


Dominion Road

by chains_archivist



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Boys in Chains, Dark Humor, M/M, Semi-dark, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Madam Hydra</p><p>The GW boys attempt to track down a target at the notorious Roissy pleasure resort, but find themselves becoming the prey of an unexpected sexual predator lurking in their own midst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--  
> Warning: alternative-reality, yaoi, semi-darkfic reality, yaoi and really bizarre dark humor

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's a red fox torn by a huntsman's pack   
That's my soul up there   
There's a black winged gull with a broken back   
That's my soul up there   
There's a little black spot on the sun today   
It's the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain   
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain   
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign   
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

\-- "King of Pain" by The Police

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

=====================================================================

Trowa's face bore his usual cool, impassive expression, but instead of keeping others at a distance, his aloof demeanor only seemed to fascinate the people around him. It didn't exactly help that in place of his ordinary jeans and dark turtleneck, Trowa was wearing a deceptively simple white outfit that positively shouted style and good taste -- very expensive good taste -- with a pair of thin dark suspenders lending the only touch of color in Trowa's wardrobe. In the middle of a nightclub filled with people dressed mostly in a myrid varieties of black -- from fabrics that seemed to suck in all available light to the soft sheen of satin or leather to the mirror-like finish of glossy plastics -- mixed with occasional flash of metallics or other intense colors, the overall effect of Trowa's pristine outfit was that of a young man coolly detached from his murky, sordid surroundings. The sense of rampant sensuality, lust, and near-desperation that gripped so many of the club-goers left the brown-haired pilot quite untouched.

A half-naked young woman, her breasts nearly falling out of the sequined ribbon that made up her halter top, staggered out of the mad crush of the dance floor. Intoxicated out of her mind, high on drugs, or very possibly both, she toppled to the floor right at Trowa's feet. After only the briefest of glances at her, he placidly shifted his feet to the right a few inches as the bouncers scooped the unconscious young woman off the floor and carried her away.

Trowa's air of indifference and serenity apparently made him irresistible to people of both sexes. Mostly young, Trowa's age or just a little older, they were the shy, uncertain ones, hovering around the pilot in hopes of attracting his attention, but yet keeping their distance as if afraid of appearing too forward.

As for himself, Quatre found himself the uncomfortable recipient of hungry, predatory stares, particularly from the older women and men in the nightclub. Although he hadn't been accosted yet, he had the unhappy feeling that they were just taking their own sweet time before pouncing on him.

Quatre gazed around the crowded nightclub. Since it was so totally beyond anything he'd encountered, the young Arab pilot found the whole scene eerily fascinating. The club's motif -- in fact, the entire resort's motif -- was an unnerving, yet intoxicating mixture of dark gothic eroticism laced with a hefty dose of leather and bondage.... In Duo's words, pure unabashed decadence.  The Sandrock pilot had to admit that for once, his friend had not been exaggerating.

(What am I doing here?) Quatre asked himself for the hundredth time. (If it wasn't for this blasted mission....)

In a normal city, teenagers like himself and the other pilots would have been barred from such hard-core nightclubs, but this was no ordinary place. The resort complex where he and the other pilots were staying called itself Roissy and liked to advertise itself as the new Sodom and Gomorrah. There were no minimum ages here and the only god was money. If you had the cash, you could play.

So kids barely in their teens danced, drank, and drugged beside the hardened twenty-something club-crawlers who in turn jostled beside middle-aged and even some elderly adults on the prowl for some young and tender flesh. Everyone was looking for excitement or interesting games -- all undoubtedly sexual in nature.

The place was not called the "Meat Market" for nothing.

Quatre stiffened as a fat, graying man headed in his direction and thought, (Oh hell....)

He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone suddenly sat down beside him. The blond pilot sagged in relief when he realized that the person next to him was Heero. Dressed in snug, body-hugging black jeans and a matching black mesh tanktop, the Wing pilot drew appreciative and hungry looks from both males and females in the club. To Quatre's delight, Heero's hostile cobalt stare completely unnerved the approaching older man, who abruptly wandered off in another direction.

"Have you seen the target?" the Sandrock pilot asked as softly he could, given the ear-splitting music volume.

Heero muttered, "No."

"Are you sure he's going to be here?"

"As far as I can determine from the credit records, the Meat Market is the only nightclub in Roissy that he visits."

Quatre shuddered slightly. "Meat Market. What a name.... Couldn't we just wait outside this place and... and kidnap the man as he comes out?"

"That's the best option. Unfortunately, Trowa and I have staked out this building for the past three days, but we still don't know how he leaves the club. He comes in, but we never see him leaving."

"Underground tunnels?"

"Possibly. Our only option is to follow him and see where he goes."

"So you think the lab's hidden here, too?"

"It's not a bad hiding place. A lot of high level OZ personnel come here. With the activities going on around here, it's easy to slip out of sight for hours. Perfect for secret meetings."

"This place makes my skin crawl. So many people are staring. It's like they're mentally undressing me!"

Heero glowered, causing numerous hearts to beat faster. "They probably are."

"That's really reassuring, Heero!"

The Wing pilot shrugged. "What do you expect?  Most of these people are here to have 'fun'. In this place, that usually involves sex in one form or another. They assume that anyone else here wants the same, even if they say 'no'."  Heero gave Quatre a hard look. "So watch yourself."

The Arab pilot swallowed hard and nodded somberly.

After a brief interruption as Heero roughly dumped an over-amorous young woman out of his lap and scrubbed the lipstick smear off his cheek, he growled irritably, "Have you seen Duo?"

"Not yet. He said he might be a little late. Some new information came in after we left."

"That idiot," Heero said with a definite touch of annoyance.

Quatre sighed and said, "I wonder how Wufei's dealing with all this."

=====================================================================

Up in the main guest building of the Roissy Resort, Zechs Merquise growled irritably, "This entire resort is a walking debauch!" as he glared out the window of his suite.

Unfortunately, Lucrezia Noin was too distracted to answer as she stared wide-eyed at the dresser drawer full of sex toys.

"Ah... ah... oh my god...."

She hastily slammed the drawer shut and tried to get her breathing back under control. Refusing to take a closer look at the over-sized bed, which came complete with mirrored ceiling, full massage, and audio-video pickups for making one's own personal movies, she nervously prowled around the room. A careless tug on a wall latch caused a large rack of whips, paddles, and other neatly organized bondage paraphernalia to slide into view. A cheerful note on the rack stated:

"Advanced and/or custom equipment  -- please call the Apparatus department at #75.  Special clothing, costumes, or fetish gear  -- please call the Wardrobe department at #76.  If you have any questions or unfulfilled desires -- contact the front desk.  We're here to serve your every need."

"Noin?  What are you...?"

At the sound of Zechs calling her name, she jumped guiltily and bumped into the wall rack. Instinctively grabbing at the toppling gear, Noin found herself clutching a purple suede flogger as a bemused Zechs stared at her.

"Heh... heh...," she chuckled nervously.

=====================================================================

In the neighboring suite, Treize Khushrenada was examining the video disc collection with a wry smile.

"Fascinating. I never realized there was a XXX-rated version of 'War and Peace'."

Lady Une snorted in annoyance. "A sex resort hardly seems like your usual choice of vacation, Sir."

He sighed ruefully, "It's not. Believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, I'd be at a secluded country estate, enjoying good food, wine, and some pleasant company. My idea of rest does NOT constitute trying to cram the maximum number of sexual partners into a twenty-four hour period, nor does it encompass working my way through one of these three-inch manuals on exotic sexual techniques. My own imagination is sufficient, thank you. No, it's duty that demands my presence here."

As she watched him head out the door, Lady Une said worriedly, "Where are you going, Sir?"

"I've decided to go for a walk."

"Do you wish me to accompany you?"

"That's not necessary. I simply have a sudden urge to survey the terrain, so to speak. Please finish the security scan of our suite. I shouldn't be gone too long."   
   =====================================================================

Dorothy Catalonia gave Relena Peacecraft a faintly malicious smile and said, "Are you *sure* you want to stay here?  I hope you have some idea of what will happen to your reputation if people find out that you're staying at a notorious place like the Roissy Resort."

Relena was doing her best to ignore any possible significance of the all the hoses, nozzles, and other apparatus in the bathroom as she applied a cool, damp towel to her burning cheeks.

"I know, but... but...."

She clamped her lips shut. The only reason she had been permitted to go on this trip was because of Dorothy's presence, but Relena was not about to tell the other girl, who happened to be the daughter and granddaughter of high-ranking OZ officials, that she was here at the resort to meet a vitally important informant.

Dorothy smiled acidly, "But Heero Yuy's here?"

"Uh... yes!  That's why I'm here!  I want to find Heero!" Relena babbled hastily.

=====================================================================

Back at the nightclub known as the Meat Market, Wufei angrily elbowed his way through the crowd. Just as he was about to break free of the mob on the dance floor, he yelped and jumped as someone pinched his buttocks hard. He whirled around furiously, only to find that his assailant was a tall, muscular blond woman dressed in well-worn biker leathers.

In a low, husky voice, she drawled, "Hello, pretty boy," and gave him a slow, predatory smile.

"Kisama!  Keep your damn hands off of me!" Wufei snarled back.

"Ooohhh, pretty boy's got a temper. I *like* that."  She licked her lips hungrily and stalked closer. "It makes breaking 'em in more fun."

Wufei managed to choke back an incoherent bellow of outrage. He turned to storm away from the infuriating woman and crashed into someone who had been standing directly behind him. Confronting him was a tall black woman dressed in some sort of period costume. With her hair coiled tightly in a bun, she looked rather like a Victorian-era school mistress.

The black woman grabbed Wufei's chin hard, her long dagger-like fingernails nearly leaving scratches in the tender skin of his face, and hissed dangerously, "Little boys need discipline. I think you need to be punished."

The muscle-bound biker blond marched up and complained, "Hey!  I saw him first!"  She grabbed a hold of Wufei's arm and yanked.

The black woman coldly eyed the other woman without relinquishing her grip on Wufei. "So what?" she purred in venomous tones.

"So what!?  Ever heard of 'first come, first serve, bitch?'"

The Chinese pilot had been fighting a desperate battle to control his temper after being constantly ogled, groped, and propositioned in the most sordid ways imaginable. After all, the mission came first. But this last bit of mauling -- and by WOMEN, no less! -- was entirely too much for him. Beyond outrage at this point, Wufei was on the brink of throwing discretion to the winds as he prepared to hammer the talon-nailed female and possibly also the biker blond into the floor.

"Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid that I have a prior claim. Kindly take your hands off of him," a coolly amused voice said behind Wufei's back.

(No, it can't be....)

Wufei slowly turned his head to see Treize giving the two women a singularly dangerous little smile. The OZ general was not in his usual uniform, but he wore his civilian-style blazer and slacks with the same style and flair. Under his coolly, intimidating stare, the biker blond finally shrugged and departed, but not before giving Wufei's butt a firm swat.

"KI-SA-MA!!!"

The black woman released her grip on Wufei's chin and said in her icy, controlled voice, "Khushrenada, you should train your pets to better manners."

"Lady Devereaux, I don't presume to tell you how to run your husband or other aspects of your personal life. Return the courtesy of not attempting to tell me how to run mine."

When the woman's lips curled back in an expression that was more of a snarl than a smile, Wufei found himself recoiling when he saw that her teeth had been filed to sharp points.

Treize gave her a faint nod of acknowledgment, then firmly escorted Wufei away. Once the vicious female was out of sight, Wufei tried to shrug off Treize's grip, but failed.

"Let go of me!"

The OZ general smiled faintly. "I don't think that's wise. Who knows what sort of trouble you'll get into if I abandon you to this sex-crazed horde?"

"Talk about someone being sex-crazed...," Wufei muttered under his breath.

"Did you say something?" Treize said in a decidedly amused voice.

The Chinese pilot settled for a good glare. Wufei caught a glimpse of Quatre's worried face through the crowd and gave him a slight, but definite shake of his head to tell the Arab pilot not to interfere.

Without looking in Quatre's direction, Treize murmured, "Warning off your friends?"

Wufei gave the ginger-haired man beside him a wary glance, but before he could reply, he noticed a commotion in the crowd. Someone had just entered the club and was causing quite a stir. Unlike his own struggle to make his way through the mob, the club-goers were actually moving aside for the newcomer. When the last few people melted out of the mysterious person's path, Wufei's jaw nearly hit the floor. Even Treize took a sharp breath as they both caught sight of the new arrival -- Duo Maxwell.

The clothing worn by the teenagers in the nightclub tended to be snug and extremely revealing -- and the more skin exposed, the better. While Wufei absolutely refused to degrade himself by wearing such tawdry outfits, he had fully expected Duo to jump at the opportunity to dress in the most provocative and outrageous manner possible, similar to the torn skintight jeans and see-through tanktop that Heero wore. But to his surprise, his fellow Gundam pilot had opted for an entirely different style of clothes.

The Deathscythe pilot wore an opaque poet's shirt of dark blood crimson silk, complete with loose, billowy sleeves and long cuffs tightly laced around the wrists. Instead of the typical plunging neckline to expose the chest, there was a surprisingly tasteful fall of scarlet lace at his throat. Just above that lace, Duo wore a plain, thin black collar around his throat. Over the shirt, he wore a black leather vest, laced shut and bare of any decoration, which perfectly matched his similarly stark body-hugging black leather pants. Black fingerless gloves covered his hands while black and scarlet cords snaked through his hip-length chestnut brown braid. On his feet, he wore a pair of sleek black ankle boots, devoid of the gaudy glittery chains or buckles that many of the nightclub's clientele favored.

But it wasn't just the clothes -- the surprisingly elegant and strangely erotic combination of contrasting hard and soft textures in the sleek black leather and silken fabric -- that startled Wufei so much. There was something different in Duo's eyes. Those wide blue-violet eyes had a cool, subtly calculating gleam that Wufei had never seen before. The almost overpowering sense of control the Chinese pilot detected in the other teenager was totally unlike the impulsive Duo Maxwell he knew.

His instincts told him that this person in black and crimson was dangerous. The drunken and drugged fools crowded the dance floor sensed it. Even that harridan Lady Devereaux displayed a wary sort of respect. But it was the sort of danger that tempted and seduced, the sort that lured a person closer regardless of the possible consequences.

(Good god!  Is Duo... is he actually carrying a riding crop!?)

As the pony-tailed teenager goggled in amazement, Treize murmured under his breath, "Things are definitely getting interesting. Wufei, you know such *fascinating* people."


	2. Part 1

Wufei couldn't keep his eyes off Duo as the Deathscythe pilot headed toward the bar. The briefest glance from those indigo eyes was enough to make one of the drinkers hastily vacate his barstool and offer it to the leather-clad teenager.

Fully occupied with watching Duo, the Chinese teenager failed to notice the tall, austerely handsome dark-haired man walking up behind him and Treize. He twitched in surprise as the stranger spoke to the man standing beside him in an amused aristocratic voice.

"Treize, I'm glad you decided to accept my invitation," the dark-haired man said.

Out of the stranger's sight, the general's fingers briefly tightened on Wufei's arm in a silent warning as he calmly replied, "Crawford."

The man chuckled and said, "Come, come. No need to be so formal. As an old schoolmate, you're certainly welcome to use my first name."

"Well, then. Hello, Matthias. It's been a long time."

Wufei froze as soon as he recognized the name 'Matthias Crawford' and cursed his luck. The man was one of the owners of the Roissy Resort, not to mention a close associate to their target. Well aware that he couldn't let his cover slip, Wufei discretely gritted his teeth, lowered his head, and kept his mouth shut as Crawford examined him with penetrating, ice blue eyes.

"Is this young man the flavor of the week?  Or is he your new pet project, Treize?"

The OZ general merely gave the other man a nonchalant shrug.

"Don't tell me that you're already tired of that spectacular blond pilot on your staff?"  With a malicious little smile, Crawford added, "Tell me, did you order Merquise to wear that fancy silver mask just so you can keep him to yourself?  I remember that you were always the notoriously possessive sort."

"I never liked sharing my toys, Matthias. And I still don't," Treize drawled.

Crawford's lips twitched in a faint smile as he eyed Wufei. "That's a pity. I wouldn't mind trying this one out."

"I'm afraid you'd be too much for him. He's rather new to all this."

"I guessed as much. There's a certain look in his eye...."

"He is somewhat high-spirited," the OZ general blandly commented.

"And do I detect a certain lack of discipline?"

Treize murmured, "Oh, let me assure you that he's *very* disciplined, Matthias... in his own way. Aren't you, Wufei?"

Wufei, through immense effort, managed to remain outwardly still and docile even as Treize casually placed his hand on the back of Wufei's neck. However inwardly, the Chinese pilot was seething furiously.

(That bastard is ENJOYING this!)  But underneath the anger was a faint shiver of anxiety and perhaps fear. Treize seemed entirely too comfortable with the whole perverse atmosphere of this decadent resort.

Momentarily losing interest in the teenager, Crawford glanced across the nightclub toward the bar and said, "Fascinating. To think that someone so young...."

Treize followed Crawford's gaze as the man stared at the spectacular crimson and black-garbed teenager sitting at the bar.

"Yes. Rather striking, isn't he?"

"He stands out like a diamond in a coal pile. He's nothing like these weekend dilettantes, with their precious safewords and rules. Poseurs, all of them," the man said contemptuously. "But one look and you can tell that young man's certainly no amateur."  Crawford glanced at the general. "Rather like us, Treize."

"What, are you interested in making him your new protege?"

Crawford chuckled. "Not exactly. I have the strange feeling that even I could learn a thing or two from him, despite his age. See how he rules the people around him, just with a look. He doesn't even have to say a word and they're still falling over themselves to fulfill his every desire."

"Rather reminds me of a border collie handling sheep," Treize murmured as he absently ran an elegant finger up and down the side of Wufei's throat.

Even as they watched, a young woman dressed in nothing more than a few strategically placed plastic straps crawled toward Duo on her hands and knees. Just as she was about to kiss his booted foot, the Deathscythe pilot made a barely detectable flicking gesture with the riding crop in his hand.

The young woman wilted visibly and cowered on the floor, staring up at him with desperate, pleading eyes. Duo glanced at her thoughtfully, then lifted his feet slightly off the stool's footrest. In an instant, the young woman scrambled to position herself under his feet. As if it was a perfectly normal thing to do to use a near-naked woman as a footstool, Duo nonchalantly placed his boots on her back and returned to surveying the crowd with a cool, critical gaze.

Far from feeling humiliated or angry, the young woman looked ecstatic. If she had possessed a tail, it would have been wagging like mad.

=================================================================

The mind-boggling scene he just witnessed, combined with the throbbing music and dancing lights inside the nightclub left Wufei feeling strangely disoriented. It was as if he had stepped into some bizarre dreamworld where friends become total strangers and enemies became... became what?  He wondered if someone had slipped something into his drink, then he remembered that he hadn't drunk anything the entire night.

On anyone else, the outfit of Duo's would have been a mere costume for a night of excitement, nothing more. But Wufei had the unhappy feeling that Duo was *not* simply acting or playing a role. That horribly fascinating combination of leather and silk was no facade, but rather seemed to be a manifestation of a much deeper change within the Deathscythe pilot.

Wufei had no doubts that the leather on Duo's body was the genuine article. Not artificial, not vat-cloned... real. Something had died to provide that sleek, body-hugging leather for the seductive dark lord that his friend and comrade Duo Maxwell had mysteriously transformed into.

=====================================================================

The scene that had disturbed Wufei so badly only made Crawford smile. He said, "Come on, Treize. I'm rather curious about this young fellow," and started toward the bar and Duo.

"So am I, Matthias. So am I."  Treize gave Wufei a cautionary look, took a firm grip on his arm, and followed Crawford.

As they crossed the crowded room, Wufei hissed under his breath, "What the hell are you up to, Treize?"

"I'm doing this for your own good. We can discuss it when we're alone. Now get a grip on yourself. You're going to need it," murmured the general.

The two of them caught up with Crawford just as he reached Duo. The dark-haired man said, "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm...."

"Matthias Crawford," Duo coolly interrupted. "Part owner of the Roissy Resort."

Crawford acknowledged the teenager's words with a slight nod, then turned toward Treize. "And this is...."

"General Treize Khushrenada, of the OZ military," Duo calmly stated.

"You're well informed, Mr...?"

Duo glanced at Crawford and said evenly, "You may call me Maxwell."

Wufei couldn't suppress a faint shiver as he heard Duo speak. The absence of the familiar grin and the uncharacteristic icy terseness of the braided boy's speech was disturbing enough, but Wufei had no idea that Duo's husky voice could be so... so *intense*.

Duo's dark indigo gaze then shifted to Wufei.

Crawford smiled slightly and said, "I believe that this is General Khushrenada's... friend. If I recall correctly, Wufei is his name."

"Friend, hm?"  Duo slid off the stool, stepping off the young woman's back onto the floor. He cocked his head slightly, then started to approach Wufei.

The Chinese knew that he was supposed to pretend as if he and Duo were perfect strangers, but he found that there was no need to act. For all extents and purposes, the Duo Maxwell walking toward him *was* a perfect stranger. In the face of the Deathscythe pilot's slow, predatory advance, Wufei held his ground... barely.

When he was within touching distance, Duo reached out to lightly brush his fingertips along the golden skin of Wufei's right cheek.

"Exotic. And beautiful. You have excellent taste, General Khushrenada," Duo murmured softly... then the Deathscythe pilot smiled.

The undercurrent of hunger and anticipation that Wufei detected in Duo's expression rattled the Shenlong pilot so much that he involuntarily retreated and ended up backing right into Treize. Compared to the familiar stranger in front of him, the OZ general was an oddly comforting and reassuring presence for Wufei.

In the meantime, Crawford was saying, "A young man of your sophistication must find all this terribly boring," as he gestured vaguely at the nightclub around them. "I would like to invite you to a private party tomorrow evening. I think you'll find it considerably more... exciting. And satisfying."

Turning to Treize, Crawford said, "Of course you're invited also. And feel free to bring your young companion. I think he'll find it an enlightening experience."

Treize's lips curved upwards in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Thank you for that gracious invitation. But like I said before, I don't think Wufei's quite ready for that sort of entertainment yet."

With that distinctly chilling smile still on his face, Duo chuckled and said, "How disappointing. I was looking forward to getting to know him better," as he idly tapped the business end of the riding crop against his leather-clad leg.

The soft words and the rhythmic smack of leather striking leather sent chills down Wufei's spine. Somehow, he knew Duo was not joking or bluffing. Not one damn bit.

Crawford said, "Oh, I agree, but I know that once Treize makes a decision, it can be very difficult to change his mind."  He smiled at Duo. "Don't worry. Let me assure you that I'll find some suitable entertaining company for you. Or I can help you make your own arrangements. That is, if you're interested in my offer. I hope you are. You interest me greatly."

Duo shrugged. "Do I?"

Crawford laughed. "I like a man who knows what pleases him and who isn't afraid to do what's necessary to achieve that pleasure. And I like your style."

"Flattery indeed. In that case, I accept," Duo responded with an elegant bow.

"Excellent!  Treize?"

"Perhaps, if I'm not otherwise occupied."  The OZ general glanced meaningfully at Wufei, who blushed furiously.

"Of course. Then I'll let you know the details once I get everything arranged," replied Crawford.

Treize politely nodded, then said, "If you two gentlemen will excuse me, it's been a long day. Good night."

As he briskly hustled the still dazed Wufei away into the crowd, Treize whispered in his ear, "If that's your friend, little dragon, you don't *need* enemies."


	3. Part 2

By the time Wufei got his thoughts back into some semblance of order, he and Treize were some distance away from the nightclub. He tried to free himself unobtrusively of the general's grip and failed. Before he could resort to more obvious methods, Treize murmured, "People are watching. You wouldn't want to blow your cover, would you?"

Wufei subsided with a low growl of annoyance and allowed the other man to lead him to the elevators. As they waited, he muttered, "What are you up to, Treize?  And where are you taking me?"

"I'm trying to keep your precious hide in one piece."  He firmly nudged Wufei into the waiting elevator car. "And we're going to my suite to do something about that bare neck of yours."

The Chinese pilot's eyes widened in outrage, but restrained from doing anything else because of the elevator's security camera. With a sullen expression on his face, he allowed Treize to take him to the penthouse level where the most expensive and exclusive guest suites were located.

When Treize escorted Wufei through the front door of his suite, Lady Une glanced up in surprise.

"Sir!"

"Une, is the sweep done?" he asked bluntly.

She gave Wufei a suspicious look, but replied, "Yes sir. The entire suite is clean. No surveillance or bugs detected."

"Excellent. If you would be so kind to leave us alone, this young man and I have some private matters to discuss. I'll call if I need you."

"Of course."  With those words and another hard look at Wufei, Lady Une saluted and left the room.

Wufei instantly twisted free and glared at Treize.

"Now what the hell do you think you're doing?  And why are you babbling about my neck, of all things!?"

Treize poured himself a drink and said calmly, "You still do not get it, do you, my little dragon?"

"Don't call me that!" Wufei growled.

"Around here, that bare neck of yours tells people -- the wrong people -- that you're available."

"WHAT!?"

"Don't be a fool, Wufei. You know what sort of place Roissy is. Most people come here for only one reason -- some sort of sexual gratification. Everyone who meets you assumes that you will be sexually willing and available, no matter how much you protest. The only question is what type of sexual behavior turns you on."

A distinct flush appeared in Wufei's cheeks as he snapped, "Of course I know that!  That still doesn't explain your comment about my neck, Treize, nor does it explain why it appears to be a problem!"

The general sighed. "Normally, it wouldn't be a problem, even in a place like this. I have every confidence that you'd be able to handle most advances... adequately, if not with the greatest skill or tact. However, the situation are *not* normal. For some unknown reason, an abnormal number of hardcore sadists are here at Roissy."

Wufei glared at Treize. "Am I supposed to find that strange?" he retorted.

"I'm sure you consider many of the Meat Market's customers to be decadent, bizarre, and perverse, but trust me when I tell you that they're nothing compared to people like Crawford and Lady Devereaux. You heard what Crawford said -- most of the visitors to Roissy are weekend warriors, there to play consensual sex games and nothing more."

Treize sipped his drink and said thoughtfully. "Both the serious dominants and the hardcore sadists generally look down on these dabblers, so I'm rather surprised to see someone like Veronica Devereaux prowling the nightclubs. It isn't her usual sort of hunting ground."

"Both the dominants and sadists?  Like there's a difference?" the Shenlong pilot muttered sarcastically.

"Very much so. While dominants enjoy control and power over submissives, most are not interested in coercing people into such a relationship. They may hurt, they may inflict pain, but they generally do not harm. A subtle, but important distinction."

Treize leaned forward and said with quiet emphasis, "But the hardcore sadists like Crawford and Devereaux are very different. They don't really care whether their playthings consent or not, and they tend to be very rough on their toys. Sometimes they break them permanently. Unfortunately, it seems that you've attracted Devereaux's interest. And that's a dangerous thing, little dragon."

"What did I do!?  I simply ran into her by accident!" the teenager sputtered furiously.

The general shook his head ruefully. "Oh Wufei, you have no idea how eye-catching you are. But if you could  view yourself from their eyes, you'd see a beautiful, sulky schoolboy with an ass that positively begs to be beaten. Of course you attracted Devereaux's attention. Do you really think that it was just a coincidence that she was standing directly behind you when you had your little encounter with that rather muscular biker blond?"

Wufei gave Treize a decidedly suspicious look. "General, you seem to know an inordinate amount about this...," his lips thinned in distaste, "...this sexual subculture."

Treize's lips quirked upward into a faint smile. "Alas, I must confess that I was rather wild in my youth."

The general rose to his feet, then walked into his bedroom. Wufei heard the sound of a drawer opening, then closing. A few seconds later, Treize returned with something in his hand. As the pilot watched him curiously, the general seemed to hesitate an instant before allowing the thin shimmering chain to dangle from his fingers. At the end of the chain hung a small pendent.

"Here. Wear it, at least while you're here."

Wufei was about to angrily refuse, but something in Treize's expression made the teenager ask, "What is it?  And why?"

The general tossed the chain at Wufei who automatically caught it. The chain was superbly made, with an elegant and distinctive pattern of silver and gold links. On closer examination, the teenager realized that the pendant was actually a small padlock.

"It's a basically a slave collar."  Seeing that Wufei's temper was about to erupt, Treize hastily added, "Because when they see it, people will know that you're 'taken'. And more importantly, it will give you some measure of protection from Lady Devereaux and her kind while you carry out whatever mission you have."

"How...?"

Treize sighed and said, "Because that collar will mark you as my property, at least for the moment. Devereaux doesn't like me, but she respects my position and my standing. Etiquette and caution prevents her and her associates from tampering with another dominant's property without explicit permission. And I'm known for not sharing my toys."

Wufei's fist clenched over the chain. "Then any damn necklace will do. I don't need your personal protection...."

"Sorry, but I think you do, little dragon. Devereaux wants you and wants you badly, so you're going to need to belong to someone influential enough to make her think twice about meddling with you."  Treize gave Wufei a somber look. "You could ask your friend with the braid to stand in as your 'owner' -- I'm sure that Devereaux would be reluctant to cross *him* -- but unless your friend is the best actor I've ever seen, you just might be leaping from the frying pan into the fire."

Wufei had a horrible sinking feeling that Treize might be right about Duo.  The general made an exasperated gesture. "Do what you like, Wufei. However, let me assure that as soon as you appear without that chain around your neck, Devereaux and the others will be on you like wolves on a newborn fawn. And then what will happen to your precious mission?  If that lock bothers you, I'm sure that someone with your skills can pick it open, so let me assure you that you can take that damn chain off anytime you feel like it!"

The teenager took a deep breath and told himself that the neck chain didn't mean a thing. It was just a disguise. That was all. The mission came first, right?  Wufei could have asked Treize why he just *happened* to have a slave collar lying around... but he didn't. Slowly he slipped the chain around his throat, but found himself fumbling with the small lock intended to hold the collar closed.

Treize watched the teenager for a moment, then quietly stepped forward to slip the ends of the chain onto the lock. With his hands lightly brushing Wufei's throat, he felt the teenager swallow hard as the lock snapped shut.

As the teenager stared mutely at the floor, the general stepped back to take a good look. The small lock -- discretely designed to look like an ordinary pendant or charm to the casual observer -- nestled neatly in the hollow of Wufei's throat, just as he imagined it would.

"And now that's done, little dragon, try to do me the courtesy of not getting caught, hm?"

=====================================================================

Relena stood just inside the entrance of the Meat Market and futilely tried to pull down the hem of her outrageously short miniskirt. Well, it felt outrageously short to *her*. She shouted over the pounding music, "Dorothy, are you sure this is the appropriate thing to wear!?"

"Of course I'm sure. Just take a look around!"

Relena was forced to admit that compared to the rest of the crowd, her and Dorothy's clothes were on the conservative side. Dorothy was dressed in a body-hugging electric blue dress that matched her eyes. Just like Relena's dress, its hem line ended just below her crotch. The dress's halter top front was opaque watered silk, while glittery fishnet covered her shoulders, back, and the full length of her arms.

Nevertheless, Relena still felt horribly exposed in her sleeveless, strapless gold lamé dress. It wasn't snug like Dorothy's outfit, but the feel of the heavy, rippling metallic fabric brushing her bare skin was... strange. The only thing that kept her from feeling totally naked was the thin, transluscent gold wrap around her bare shoulders.

"Now what!?" Relena shouted in Dorothy's ear.

"Head for the bar and take a look around!"

They worked their way through the mob -- in actuality, Dorothy ended up dragging Relena behind her as she did all the work of pushing, shoving, and elbowing her way through the crowd.

Dorothy's aggressive maneuvering soon landed them a seat at the bar. When the bartender asked for their orders, Dorothy politely requested some suggestions.

As the other girl chatted with the helpful bartender, Relena was steadily growing more and more wide-eyed as she looked around the nightclub. Through the swirl of smoke and the glare of the strobe lights, Relena thought she caught a glimpse of... Heero?  She shook her head sharply.

(Impossible!  I'd never find him in a sordid, dirty place like this.)  It was probably just her imagination. For once, she was actually relieved that he wasn't around. (God, I'd be so embarrassed if he saw me dressed like this. I look like a total harlot!)  She couldn't keep herself from shuddering.

"Your order, Miss?"

Relena jerked around to stare at the bartender who, after asking for the fourth time, was waiting not so patiently for her order.

"Uh... uh...."  Relena glanced around wildly, then pointed rather haphazardly at a smoking pinkish concoction that a tattooed brunette was sipping. "I'll have that!"

The bartender gave her a dubious look. "Are you sure you know what you're getting into?"

Relena's back stiffened and she snapped irritably, "You wanted my order and I gave it to you!"

"All right, all right," the bartender said with a shrug. He and Dorothy exchanged significant looks, then he headed off to fetch Relena's drink.

When the fuming goblet of pink liquid arrived, Relena almost lost her nerve, but when she saw the faintly mocking grin on the bartender's face, she pursed her lips in annoyance and took a big gulp. She braced herself for the worst, but except for a slight burn going down her throat, it seemed... well, harmless enough. Actually, the drink tasted quite good. It was light and fruity, with just a bit of tartness to give it bite. She giggled softly and took another big gulp.

As for Dorothy, she was drinking something purple with thick green swirls. She smiled innocently at Relena and said, "How is it?"

"Oh... it's fine."  She squinted at the thick syrupy liquid clinging to the bottom of the goblet. "What's that?"

Dorothy murmured, "Oh, I imagine that's supposed to be the good part."

"Hmmmm...."

A tentative sip told Relena that the syrup was even tastier than the other part of the drink. She tossed the remainder back in a single chug and demanded another one.

And by the time Relena Peacecraft was halfway through her second Pink Pussy Zinger, she was feeling very, *very* good... and there was a strange, yet pleasantly throbby feeling somewhere below her stomach.

=====================================================================

Both Quatre and Heero missed the spectacle of Duo's arrival. After delivering his warning to the Arab pilot, Heero disappeared into the crowd on some unknown errand. Quatre, finding himself alone again and unable to locate Trowa in the crowded nightclub, decided to do one last sweep through the main room before calling it quits and retreating to the safety of his room.

=====================================================================

Crawford wasted no time introducing Duo to several of his closer associates. The Deathscythe pilot was in the middle of exchanging polite greeting with Lady Devereaux when a slurred, petulant young male voice said, "You've got to be kidding me!  No way this shrimp can be a top!"

A short, heavily built middle-aged man whom Crawford had introduced as Santo Ruderigo scowled thunderously at the speaker, a slim man in his early twenties, and growled, "Boy, you're making a flaming embarrassment of yourself."

The drunken young man turned to Ruderigo and complained, "And how come he gets invited to one of Crawford's private parties, Dad, when you won't even let me come along?"

Lady Devereaux sneered and said icily, "Perhaps because he has manners, talent, skill, style, AND looks?"

Duo eyed the young man with the air of a buyer examining a piece of incredibly shoddy merchandise, then he glanced inquiringly at Ruderigo.

"Your...?"

"My son, sorry to say. William's his name," the older Ruderigo said sourly.

Ruderigo's son crowded close to Duo, trying to use his superior height to intimidate the teenager, then reached out and contemptuously hooked his fingers around the discrete black leather collar around Duo's throat.

"Real doms don't wear that sort of shit." he slurred, giving the collar a few sharp jerks.

"Is that so?" Duo replied with an innocent little smile.

The teenager's mild response made William even more bolder. With a nasty smirk, he said, "Yeah. Only pets wear collars!  See, you've even got a frigging leash!"  He grabbed a hold of Duo's long braid and gave it a sharp yank. "You might have fooled those old guys with your leather and fancy looks, but you can't fool me. Don't you know your proper place, or am I going to have to show you?"  He snatched the riding crop from Duo's hand and flicked it threateningly in the pilot's face.

Instead of responding to William's drunken taunts, Duo glanced over at the visibly irritated Ruderigo and said politely, "With your permission...?"

The older man paused a moment, looked thoughtful, then slowly grinned.

"Why, certainly," Ruderigo drawled. "It's about time something was done."

Crawford smoothly said, "Why don't we continue this matter in the Chambres?"

William exhaled boozy fumes into Duo's face as he laughed. "You're in for it now, pretty boy. Do you know what goes on in the Chambres?  That's where naughty boys get punished. How much pain do you think you can handle?"

Duo whispered, "Quite a lot...."

"Ooohhh, you're really hungry for it, aren't you, braid boy?"

The Deathscythe pilot bit his lower lip and looked away.

William laughed and shoved Duo toward an imposing leather covered door at the rear of the main nightclub. Beyond the doorway, at the end of a short hall, there was a room decorated in the most ostentatious old Victorian style and equipped with all the gear imaginable for bondage and punishment. Scattered around the chamber were sturdy wooden frames for holding people in various positions of helplessness, while racks of flogging instruments and restraints lined the walls. As Duo and William walked to the center of the room, Crawford, Lady Devereaux, and Ruderigo moved off to the side and settled down on strategically placed armchairs and sofas to watch events unfold with cruel, critical eyes.

William reached out to grab the teenager's arm, but Duo acted first with a swift and brutal strike to the man's solar plexus. As William staggered, unable to breath or even think, the teenager gracefully spun and lashed out with a booted foot that caught Ruderigo's son across the buttock and knocked him onto a conveniently placed X-frame. As William continued to gasp and wheeze, Duo calmly and efficiently fastened the young man's limbs to the frame, trapping him in a spread-eagle position.

When he managed to catch his breath, William began to thrash and yell furiously.

"You little son-of-a-bitch!  How dare you pull sort of shit on me!  I'll...!"

Blood abruptly drained from William's face when he heard the soft, but unmistakable 'shnick' of a switchblade opening.

"H-H-Hey!  This isn't funny any more!  Let me down from here!"  Goosebumps crawled across William's body as Duo removed all his clothes with a few efficient slices.

"God damn it!  Dad, make him stop!  SHIT!"

Ruderigo merely sat back in his chair and sank down in a comfortable slouch, nursing his brandy snifter.

As William alternately threatened and pleaded, Duo walked over to a wall rack of implements, then calmly made his selection.

The vicious whish of the thin bamboo cane slicing through air cut William's babbling short.

In a crisp voice, Duo said, "Five for the rudeness. Five for touching my person without permission. Ten for touching the braid. And another ten for yanking on it."

"Oh shit no man not that come on please it was just a damn joke okay OWWWWW!!!!"

The cane whistled and landed neatly across William's buttocks, raising a long red welt. After a second, little beads of blood welled up from the raised flesh.

Duo smiled and struck again. And again. And again.

By the eighth blow, William wailed, "STOP IT!!! I can't take any more of this fuckin' shit!"

In low, menacing tones, Duo purred, "You'll fucking well take whatever shit I choose to give you, Billy-boy."

Another precisely placed slash of the cane.

"You asked me <slash> how much pain <slash> I could handle? <slash>  Well, I confess to having <slash> an infinite capacity <slash> for pain. <slash> Other people's pain. <slash>  And yes <slash> I AM quite <slash> hungry for it."

As William's screams degenerated into high-pitched whimpers of "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die," Duo briskly retorted with a maniac cheerfulness that his fellow Gundam pilots would have found very familiar.

"Oh, come on now. If a woman half your size can survive thirty strokes, then a healthy macho guy like yourself surely can do the same. Besides, I'm not even two-thirds of the way through."

William's only response was a low, sobbing wail.

=====================================================================

When Duo finished the last stroke, Ruderigo muttered with mild satisfaction, "Maybe that'll teach him some manners. Nothing else has."

Lady Devereaux and Crawford walked over to the frame to examine Duo's handiwork. She walked her long-nailed fingers down William's back -- eliciting a faint, agonized groan -- counting off the welts left by the cane, then said, "Quite impressive. Thirty distinct marks and not a single one crossed or overlaid by another."

With hints of his earlier grin still lurking on his lips, Duo said, "Well, did I pass your little test?"

Crawford chuckled and replied, "As Veronica said, impressive. I haven't seen such expertise and technique in a long time."

"If ever," added Ruderigo laconically.

"Other people have mentioned that I've got a real gift for this sort of thing," Duo said with a careless shrug.

=====================================================================

As Trowa scanned the crowd in the Meat Market, he caught a brief glimpse of Duo before the Deathscythe pilot disappeared behind a wall of writhing dancers. The sighting only lasted a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Trowa to notice an odd look of.... The only way he could describe it was as an expression of almost blatantly sexual satisfaction.

=====================================================================

After hastily bolting out of Treize's suite, Wufei attempted to locate the other Gundam pilots. However, unable to find Heero, Trowa, or Quatre, the Chinese pilot was left with nothing to do except return to his room and get some sleep... or try to, at least.

Treize had been perfectly correct when he said that Wufei was capable of removing the neck chain at any time. It now sat in a little heap on the bedside table. But even in the darkness of the unlit room, the faint glimmer of its links was all too visible. Finally, Wufei determinedly turned his back to the table and the strangely mesmerizing chain lying on it, then slid into a restless, uneasy sleep.

"Wufei."

The Chinese pilot frowned sleepily.

(Duo's weird behavior must have disturbed me more than I thought. Now I'm dreaming about him saying my name!)

"Wufei," a familiar husky voice repeated softly.

(Wait... I'm awake... and I DID hear someone call my name!)

The thought so startled Wufei that he threw his customary caution aside and sat bolt upright in bed.

Only a few feet away, in one of the armchairs in his bedroom, sat a dark still figure. The faint light that seeped through the closed curtains was more than sufficient to outline the black leather pants and vest, the fingerless gloves, and the long silken braid casually trailing down one shoulder.


	4. Part 3 (revised draft)

Wufei's breath stuck in his throat as he identified the mysterious visitor sitting in his bedroom.

"M-Maxwell!"

Although the darkness hid Duo's expression from view, Wufei somehow sensed the faint smile on the Deathscythe pilot's shadow-obscured face.

"Did I scare you, Wufei?" Duo inquired quietly. And again, there was that haunting intensity in his familiar low tenor voice....

"N-No...."  The Chinese pilot was dismayed to hear the painfully obvious uncertainty in his own voice. He gritted his teeth and snapped, "Of course not!"

"There's no need to lie, Wufei. I even scare myself at times," Duo murmured with a dispassionate thoughtfulness that seemed more appropriate coming from Trowa.

A shiver ran down Wufei's spine as he stared across the darkened room at his visitor. Unlike of the usual restless fidgeting that often drove Wufei to distraction, the other teenager remained almost uncannily still in the armchair.

"What are you doing in my room?" the Shenlong pilot growled.

"To tell you there's been a change in our mission. New information arrived after you and the others left."

Uncomfortable with talking to a nearly invisible Duo and unable to see anything more than the still outline of the other's leather-clad body, Wufei switched on the room's lighting. But the bright illumination did little to reassure him or make him feel more secure. His instincts had been right -- Duo was smiling ever so slightly at him.

"Well, spit it out," Wufei snapped as he shifted uneasily under Duo's unrelenting stare. As the braided pilot's gleaming indigo eyes seemed to cut right through his bold facade, the Chinese pilot couldn't help feeling like some poor experimental animal who had been pinned down on a lab table and sliced open for all the world to see.

Duo didn't immediately reply. Instead, he rose with predatory grace to his feet and silently prowled over toward Wufei, who had to fight the impulse to cower away from the other teenager's steady approach.

The Deathscythe pilot halted beside the bed and gazed down at the distinctive neck chain carelessly coiled on the bedside table. He sighed softly and murmured, "Well, that both complicates and simplifies things."

Duo reached out and picked up the chain. As he dangled it from a slender finger, his smile widened just a fraction as he examined the small lock on the chain.

Wufei fidgeted guiltily, knowing that Duo was probably all too aware of the neck chain's significance.

"Well, Treize has taste. I'll say that much," the braided teenager languidly commented. "So you've agreed to play his pet for a while...."

Wufei's sense of uneasiness had steadily intensified during their little encounter. The person standing in front of him simply was *not* the Duo Maxwell he knew. Although that Duo could be irritating as hell, he was also exuberant, free-spirited, cheerful, and extremely likable. In stark contrast, this familiar-looking, yet threatening stranger with the braid seemed to exude a disturbing... no, a *frightening* sense of control, both of himself and his surroundings.

He even *smelled* different, with the faintest hint of Duo's usual fruit-scented shampoo blending strangely with the scent of body-warmed leather and... blood?

Unwilling to admit that Duo was making him more than a little nervous, Wufei went on the verbal offensive.

"Maxwell, what the HELL sort of game are you playing at...!"

The Chinese pilot's words ended in a smothered grunt as Duo grabbed Wufei by the throat and slammed him back against the bed's headboard hard enough to make the Shenlong pilot briefly see stars.

As he hovered over the other pilot on the bed, Duo said tautly, "Game?  This is no GAME, Wufei. Do you have any IDEA how fucking sick it makes me to force myself think and act this way again?  I'm certainly not doing it just for a cheap thrill or a quick lay."

Although someone of his training could have successfully broken the hold on his throat, something kept Wufei from trying to free himself from Duo's steely grip. The terrifying evenness in Duo's voice did more to convey his sincerity and his seriousness than any amount of shouting.

"As I was saying, after you guys left, one of the assistant scientists defected from Crawford's secret project and came to us with new information. We were right. Crawford is working on a secret biological weapon project, specifically a deadly virus. However, the defector had evidence that the developed viral strain is not only highly lethal, but that it's very unstable. Do you understand what that means?"  Duo loosened his grip enough to allow Wufei to choke out a word or two.

"Un... unstable?"

"Exactly. Usually, when the military develops these sorts of bioweapons, they do two things. First, they develop vaccines for that particular virus or bacteria, because it would be idiotic to use such weapon without a way to keep oneself from being infected. Second, they usually have a way of making the virus self-destruct after a certain amount of time to keep it from spreading out of control. Got that much?"

When Wufei nodded, Duo continued, "But Professor G and the others say that from the information they have, there's over a fifty percent chance that if that Crawford's virus is released into the environment, it will mutate into a much more dangerous strain. That means the old vaccine won't work. Not only that, but the new strain will be self-propagating and air-borne. Do you understand what that means, Wufei?  If they use that virus, there's a better than even chance that everyone on Earth could die."

The Deathscythe pilot paused an instant, before murmuring, "Do you know what it's like to walk through a place decimated by a plague?  To see people falling down and lying in the street coughing their lungs out?  Have you ever seen your best friend dying because his insides were turning to bloody pus before your very eyes... been forced to kill that best friend in order to stop his suffering?  Have you, Wufei?"  Duo's voice faded as he seemed to look past the other teenager, momentarily lost in the pain of old memories. Suddenly, his icy amethyst eyes refocused on Wufei.

"I'll do anything... ANYTHING... to stop that from happening again."

"Doesn't Crawford know...?" Wufei whispered hoarsely.

"Crawford and his fellow sadists like Devereaux and Ruderigo all run businesses that stand to reap huge profits from a plague -- medical supplies and research, transportation, food,...."

"That's INSANE!  How can they possibly think...?"

"Crawford knows that the virus is unstable -- he deliberately made it that way. Don't you see?  Crawford sells the virus to someone in the military or to some terrorist. When the buyer uses it, the virus gets out of control. Crawford and his pack of industrialists step in at the right moment, make tons of cash coming up with a supposed 'cure', and save humanity from destruction. All hail the saviors of the world. Are you starting to get the picture?"

"That... that's MONSTROUS!  How many people are involved in this crazy plot!?"

"I believe there are five or six core conspirators, but they're looking for more people to join them."  Duo leaned back and said with a dangerously edged smile. "Namely, military people. An OZ general would do nicely."

Wufei impulsively blurted, "Treize wouldn't... I mean, he... that is to say... it's just not his....!" then hastily clamped his mouth shut when he saw Duo raise a mocking eyebrow. With flushed cheeks, the Chinese pilot stared down at the bedspread.

Duo said in a faintly amused voice. "Oh yes, Crawford intended his virus to be defective and unstable -- but he doesn't realize just HOW unstable it really is. Our informant tried to warn him, but Crawford ignored her. Later, he tried to have her killed to keep her from going to the authorities. Since the flaws in the virus were too deliberate to be mere accidents or sloppy lab work, it seems that the scientist in charge of the project is double-crossing Crawford for his own reasons."

"So our mission is now to destroy the virus and all the information about it...."

"And eliminate Crawford and any of his fellow plotters. It's going to be complicated. Just blowing up the lab is out of the question. An explosion might release the virus," Duo said.

"Oh shit...," muttered Wufei.

"No, we're going to have to locate the lab, find every bit of that virus and sterilize the area BEFORE destroying the facility."  In a matter-of-fact tone, Duo added, "Also, we can't afford any loose ends, so we need Crawford and some of his associates alive for interrogation. That's my job."

Wufei shuddered at Duo's soft chuckle. Instead of its usual cheerful good-humor, there was a subtly cruel edge to the braided pilot's laughter... and an unmistakable hint of eager anticipation.

Before the Chinese pilot could think of anything to say, the bedside phone rang loudly. Before Wufei could move, Duo hit the acknowledge button.

"Wufei?" Treize's voice was instantly recognizable over the speaker.

With a dark tone of amusement, Duo said in a clearly audible voice. "Hello, General. Checking up on your pet?" and gently jangled Treize's neck chain near the microphone.

There was a brief instant of silence, then the call abruptly disconnected.

Duo turned to Wufei and for the first time that evening, he actually grinned. But like his laughter, the grin was tainted with an uncharacteristic malevolence.

In a near-purr, the braided teenager said, "It takes exactly five minutes to get from the penthouse floor to this room at a very brisk walk. Why don't we see how long it takes for Treize to get here."

"You... you actually expect him to...."

"Oh, I'm betting on it."

Precisely four minutes later, Treize calmly walked into Wufei's hotel room without even knocking.

"Entertaining surprise guests, Wufei?" the older man drawled. Only the most perceptive of observers would have noticed that the young OZ general was breathing just a bit faster than normal.

Duo turned to his fellow Gundam pilot and said smugly, "What did I tell you?"

As the braided teenager languidly rose from the bed and walked toward him, the OZ general said coolly, "I gather that my arrival was... not unexpected?  I hope that I didn't disappoint you."

"On the contrary, General. You exceeded my expectations."

Duo picked up a data disk that had been lying unnoticed on a nearby table, and flipped it to Treize.

"Here. That disk contains information on Crawford's plans and the reason why he invited you here. You might find it interesting reading."

Treize's eyes narrowed. "Why give this to me?  I thought you Gundam pilots considered me as just another OZ butcher and/or the devil incarnate."

"Maybe, but being a monster doesn't mean that one can't have some sense of honor and morals. I should know."

Treize gazed thoughtfully at the leather-clad teenager standing before him and murmured, "Are Crawford's plans that bad?  And what's to stop me from going straight to him with this information?"

Duo said quietly, "If we don't stop Crawford, then millions could die. I don't think you want that."

Treize said quietly, "No, I don't."

"And with Crawford's connections within OZ, it'll nearly be impossible for you to take any official action against him."

"I'm all too aware of that," the general said, tapping the disk against his palm with a slight frown on his face.

Duo added, "It would be good if you were willing to cooperate with us, but I'll settle for your non-interference."

"I see. When do you need my decision?"

"The sooner, the better, of course."

After Treize and Duo exchanged polite nods, the Deathscythe pilot then glanced back at Wufei and said with a slight smirk, "You should be quite proud of yourself, Wufei. Not everyone manages to get an enemy general to come charging to his rescue."

Wufei opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said tensely, "Did he?  Need to come to my rescue, that is?"

Duo cocked his head slightly and seemed to give the other teenager's question some serious thought.

"Did he need to rescue you?  I don't think so. I'm not at the point of hurting my friends for my own personal amusement. Yet."

With that cryptic statement and a flick of his thick silky braid, Duo Maxwell exited the room, leaving Treize and Wufei behind to stare silently at each other.

=====================================================================

Just as he was about to give up his search and leave the club, Quatre noticed a commotion near the bar. Working his way through the crowd, he peered around a vinyl-clad man and froze in shock as he saw Relena Peacecraft sprawled on a husky young man's lap. With her skimpy skirt shoved up around her waist, she squirmed and squealed as the man's hand descended repeatedly on her exposed buttocks. Quatre's eyes grew even wider as the young man said something to the people around him and suddenly no less than a dozen paddles or straps of all sorts were pulled from various bystanders' pockets and purses, to be generously offered for the spanker's use.

As the Arab pilot instinctively took a step forward, an elegant female leg encased in metallic fishnet stockings moved up to bar his path.

Startled, Quatre glanced toward the leg's owner and blurted, "What...?  Dorothy Catalonia!?"

"Don't interfere, Quatre Raberba Winner."

"But... but he's HITTING her!"

Dorothy shrugged nonchalantly and took another sip from her exotic looking drink. "So?  She's rather enjoying it, I think."

The sound of another loud squeal, followed by a decidedly intoxicated giggle, seemed to only confirm Dorothy's words.

"What is she doing here!?" a blushing and badly flustered Quatre said.

"Oh, I thought it would be nice to get little miss princess to loosen up a little," the girl said with a mischievous waggle of her exotic eyebrows.

As Quatre tried to figure out what the hell to do about Relena, he suddenly noticed Trowa talking to someone dressed in a strikingly sinister black leather and crimson outfit.

(Who can that be?) the Sandrock pilot wondered... then he caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar chestnut braid.

(Can that be Duo!?  In that outfit!?  No, that can't be... could it?)

All thoughts of Relena were shoved aside as Quatre fought his way toward Trowa. He was still trapped behind a mob of jiggling, bare-breasted dancers when he observed the Heavyarms pilot and the leather-clad stranger disappearing out a side door.

=====================================================================

As they silently walked down one of the paths winding through the elegant landscape of the Roissy Resort, Trowa couldn't stop himself from repeatedly glancing at his companion.

Duo had appeared out of nowhere, almost as if he had materialized from the smoky, haze-clouded atmosphere of the Meat Market. And while Trowa was still trying to take in the Deathscythe pilot's disturbingly sensuous leather/silk outfit and the even more disturbing changes in his usually cheerful demeanor, Duo had very firmly escorted the taller teenager out the door and into the cool evening air. He wasn't exactly using force, but it would have required obvious effort on Trowa's part to free himself from the other's purposeful grip.

They finally halted in a sheltered corner of the garden where the burbling sound of a nearby fountain minimized the chances of being overheard.

"Duo?"

The Deathscythe pilot didn't responded immediately. Trowa patiently waited as Duo continued to stare at the clear water spilling down an artfully arranged pile of rounded river rocks. Finally, the braided pilot started speaking in a cool, precise voice as he informed Trowa about the defecting scientist, the problems with the virus, and Crawford's little conspiracy.

Through the briefing, the sense of 'wrongness' and unnatural restraint steadily increased Trowa's tension. When the other pilot fell silent, the green-eyed pilot hid his growing uneasiness and merely said, "So what's your plan?"

"Crawford and his friends running their own little Hellfire Club. They like to consider themselves connoisseurs of pain, if you will. It also gives them a perfect excuse to get together regularly. From what the informant said, the weapons lab is in the same building as their club."

"How does she know?"

"She said that when she was being escorted blindfolded to and from the lab, she could hear the sound of blows and people screaming. There's just one problem," Duo said.

"Which is?"

"No one except Crawford and a handful of guards and servants know where the club actually is. I don't think that even Devereaux or Ruderigo knows."

"Can we kidnap him and force him to tell us?"

"He keeps himself surrounded by lots of bodyguards and whenever possible, crowds of innocent civilians. If we were going for a simple assassination, that wouldn't present too much of a problem, but trying to kidnap him is an entirely different proposition. If we had more time to come up with a decent plan, I'd give it a try, but as matters stand...."  He shrugged.

"I see. What about the servants or guards?"

Duo shook his head sharply. "For one thing, we don't known which of the hundreds of employees at Roissy work at the club. Second, the number of people in the 'know' is probably so small that I'm sure they all recognize each other by sight. More importantly, Crawford's bound to know each of them, too, even if his associates don't. A strange face will raise instant suspicion."

"Then how do you intend to locate the lab?

There's only two sure ways for a stranger to get into that private club of theirs. By invitation."

"You said there were TWO ways."

Without turning to look at Trowa, Duo said evenly, "That's right. You're either invited as a fellow sadist or you're 'invited' as a victim."

"Go on."

"I have a plan that will get me and two more people inside the club's perimeter. I can also arrange for Crawford and his cronies to be distracted and isolated from most of the servants and guards. That way, if we need more information about the lab or the conspiracy, we can deal with Crawford and the others in relative privacy."

Trowa frowned faintly as he caught the faintest hint of a smile flash across the other pilot's face.

"Duo...."

In a laconic voice, the braided pilot continued, "I've convinced Crawford and the conspirators that I enjoy inflicting pain as much as they do. They apparently like my style because they've invited me to put on a little private show for them. I suppose they're looking for a little novelty and excitement."

"Convinced them?  How?" inquired Trowa.

"Why, by giving them a practical demonstration, of course. I caned the crap out of some moron who tried pulling my hair," came the shockingly blasé reply.

Trowa suddenly interrupted by saying sharply, "Duo, what have you done to yourself?"

He finally turned to face Trowa and gave the Heavyarms pilot the same dangerously edged smile that so unnerved Wufei. But underneath the surface of that mocking amethyst stare, Trowa detected more than a little self-loathing.

"Only what was necessary. This isn't something you can fake, especially not in front of experienced people like Crawford and Lady Devereaux. Make no mistake, my enjoyment and enthusiasm were quite real."

"...."

"It didn't take any real effort to convince Crawford that I was just like him and his associates. And do you know why?  Because I *AM* just like them. I derive pleasure and sexual satisfaction from inflicting pain on others. And if that's not a textbook definition of a sadist, I don't know what is."

A stunned Trowa whispered, "How...?"

"How did I find out?  During my training under Professor G, there was an incident involving a traitor. He had to be interrogated and we didn't have any drugs laying around, so I had to use good, old-fashioned physical torture to get the man to talk."  Duo raked a hand through his long bangs and exhaled heavily.

"That's when I found out I had a real gift for that sort of thing. It seems that when I'm seriously involved in hurting someone, I have a sort of 'truth-sense' -- I can tell if that person is telling the truth or lying. I can even tell if he or she is withholding information. And you know the doctors -- waste not, want not. Professor G considered this little 'quirk' of mine to be a terrifically useful asset and made sure I was thoroughly trained to make optimum use of it. And then there was this undercover job...."

Duo took a deep breath and clenched his fists. "I hoped I would never ever have to do anything like that again, but now.... If the situation was any less serious.... Trowa, I don't like to hurt people, but I enjoy it. I enjoy it a lot."

The brown-haired teenager struggled to somehow reconcile the Duo Maxwell he thought he knew to this near-stranger, with all his undercurrents of cruelty and pain. Then the Heavyarms pilot's thoughts suddenly returned to something Duo had mentioned earlier.

"You said that you could get two other people into Crawford's club. You're not suggesting...."

Duo nodded grimly. "That's exactly what I'm proposing. It's my 'performance', so to speak, so I get to pick my subjects. One of you is going to help me distract Crawford and his gang as the 'victim' of my little show, leaving the other one free to locate the weapon lab and call in the others."

Turning away from Trowa, Duo waved his hand and added, "Who's more likely to survive this sort of treatment and give me the ability to draw my little performance out if I need to -- some poor slob out off the street or one of us?   I can ensure that the experience won't be fatal, but it has to be real... all of it. I won't be able to distract Crawford and the others with a fake show. Whoever I pick as my victim is going to get hurt."

"Why are you telling me this?" Trowa whispered, but in his heart, he had already figured it out.

"You know why. I'll arrange for you and Heero to be brought into the club as my two chosen victims."

"And you intend to use me as the distraction for Crawford while Heero takes care of the lab."

Duo gave one sharp nod. "You and Heero are the only real choices for that role. I can't use Wufei because Treize doesn't want him anywhere near Crawford and his gang. The general is keeping a close eye on Wufei and he's bound to interfere if I get him involved."

"If Treize knows about the virus, he won't allow Crawford to get away with his plans, no matter what the cost," Trowa said flatly.

"Maybe. But even if Treize didn't interfere, I don't think Wufei or Quatre is capable of dealing with what I'm going to be doing to them. I'm not talking about the pain -- I know they can both handle that -- but getting hurt in combat is very different from being deliberately tortured. And I think you know that as well as I do," Duo said fiercely.

The Heavyarms pilot thought a moment, then said quietly, "I understand your reasoning, Duo. Torture not only leaves one scarred on the outside, but also on the inside. You want to spare Quatre and Wufei that experience. As for Heero... you don't want him involved because you love him."

Duo hunched his shoulders and muttered in a tone that sounded much more like his normal self, "He'll be furious if he finds out I'm trying to protect him from something like this. I can just hear him saying that love is a bloody idiotic basis for making a tactical choice. And it must sound like a pretty lousy reason for making YOU into the sacrificial scapegoat."

Trowa shook his head slightly. "I understand your reasoning perfectly well, both in regard to Quatre and Wufei, and in regard to Heero. As for love... knowing what I do, there's no way I am going to allow you to hurt Quatre like that."

The Heavyarms pilot's voice became even more distant than usual as he added, "I've survived this sort of ordeal before. I can do it again."

The braided teenager whirled around to face Trowa. "You shouldn't have to endure that sort of shit again!  Believe me, if you've got any alternative suggestions, I'm dying to hear them!  Do you think I WANT to do this, torture one of my closest friends?  It's like one of my worst nightmares come to life!"  His voice faded to a whisper. "If this mission wasn't so bloody important...."

Duo took a deep breath. "You're partially right about love being the reason that I don't want to pick Heero. Sure, I hate the idea of him suffering, just like I hate the idea of any of you guys suffering because of me. But with Heero, it becomes even more messy. There's love, all right, but there's also fear -- my fear. I'm a coward, Trowa. I'm scared of what I'll become if I had to hurt Heero...."  He briefly paced back and forth as if gather his courage before continuing.

"Damn it, I'm already insanely in love AND in lust with him, Trowa!  Whenever I'm around Heero, I have to constantly fight to keep my words and my feelings from showing too much. I always have to remember to take things slowly in order to give Heero a chance to deal with emotions and situations he's never experienced before. Have you got any idea of what could happen if the sick, pleasure and hunger I feel when I hurt someone gets added on top of the emotions I already have for Heero?  The desire, the passion, the frustration.... I could drown SO easily...."  Duo closed his eyes and hugged himself as if attempting to hold himself together.

Trowa's eyes widened as he began to comprehend the depths of Duo's dilemma. He whispered, "You're afraid of losing control... of losing yourself... of not being *able* to stop if Heero's involved."

Duo nodded sharply. "And I can't allow that to happen. I... WE can't take that risk. I HAVE to stay in control for this mission to succeed. The pleasure I get from hurting someone... you can't... it's worse than any drug, Trowa. It would be so easy to get hooked on it. I'm afraid that one day, the hunger will take over... that one day, I'll become a monster that only exists to feed off of others' pain, regardless of whether they're an enemy or a friend."

"I see. The less you care, the easier it is for you to stay in control."

Duo reached out and grabbed Trowa's arm. "It's not that! I care about you, Quatre, and Wufei as if you were the brothers I never had. But Heero... he's so much more to me than just a comrade-in-arms or a buddy. It's the...."

"It's the sexual attraction you feel for him. I've always known that, Duo, and I do understand. You're frightened that your feelings for Heero -- your love, your desire, your need for him -- will get blurred and consumed by your darker hungers and desires."

"Yes. Exactly."  Duo turned away from Trowa's sympathetic gaze and said softly, "I would be a hell of a lot happier if *I* was the chosen victim. If any of you had the necessary expertise and experience to carry out this sort of role...."  He glanced over his shoulder at the other pilot. "After all this is through, you can put a pistol to my head and blow my brains out. I won't stop you. I'll probably deserve it a hundred times over."

The Deathscythe pilot stepped close and said quietly, "So, Trowa, shall we both take a short trip into Hell together?"

There was a long silence, before Trowa whispered, "Yes."

=====================================================================

From his location in a concealing thicket, Quatre was unable to make out any part of the long, intense conversation going on between Duo and Trowa. Suddenly, he stared in mingled shock and bewilderment as Duo leaned forward and kissed Trowa on the lips before abruptly disappearing into the shadows. The Arab pilot felt a painful knot grow in his chest as he watched a dazed Trowa put his fingers first to his cheek, then to his lips.

=====================================================================

Duo closed his eyes briefly when he heard Trowa's soft assent, then whispered, "I don't want to do this."  He leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss on Trowa's lips, then looked away before adding softly, "But I *will* enjoy doing it."

And with those words, Duo turned and quickly vanished into the darkness.

Trowa suddenly became aware of a dampness on his cheek. Curiously, he touched it, then tasted it. The saltiness instantly told him that the moisture was a tear... but it was not his own.

It was Duo's.

 


	5. Part 4 (very rough draft)

After leaving Trowa in the gardens of Roissy, Duo headed back to his suite. His pace was unrushed, yet purposeful, with every movement graceful and sure. When he arrived in the main lobby of Roissy's most exclusive hotel, all it took was a single, cool amethyst stare to make the impatient herd of guests milling around the elevators to clear a path for him. They continued to hang back and allowed him to take sole possession of the next available car.

As he slipped his card key into the slot which granted access to the penthouse level of the hotel, Duo considered his next move. Trowa would undoubtedly brief Quatre as the essential details of Crawford's plot. As for the rest.... Quatre would have to know everything, including the hazards for Trowa,. They couldn't afford to have the Sandrock pilot going off half-cocked or interfering at some critical moment.

(He'll probably think that it's all going to be an 'act', complete with special effects,) Duo thought with a vague sense of amusement.

No matter how much warning the Sandrock pilot received, it was doubtful that he would have any idea just how bloody and brutal the show could and most likely *would* become. Who would believe that Duo Maxwell was capable of deliberately and sadistically torturing one of his own friends?  Inconceivable....

(What was the tag line of that old television series?  "Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of man?" or something like that?)  The name of the show eluded him for a moment, then he remembered. (The Shadow. How appropriate.)

The normal Duo Maxwell would have burst into loud chuckles, but the person dressed in crimson silk and black leather allowed only the faintest of smiles to appear on his lips. Despite Duo's attempts to behave differently, Umbra's habit of exerting total control over himself and others had returned much too easily.

Umbra -- the nickname he had acquired during the months he had spent undercover as a professional dom....

...beautiful, violet-eyed Umbra who inflicted pain with such precise, elegantly savage flair....

....sleek, vicious Umbra who sent chills up the spines up the toughest street gangs and most hardened pimps with his smile....

....seductively cruel Umbra who was barely fourteen years old and yet had the rich and powerful of both sexes grovelling at his feet and offering obscene sums of money, gifts, and favors in return for the privilege of submitting to his will and discipline....

He smiled slightly. What would poor, naive Relena do if she ever found out what her stepfather did while she was away at boarding school?

His job as a professional dom had started out as a simple undercover role, but as the months passed, Umbra had taken on an eerie, unholy existence of his own. By the time the operation had ended, Duo himself wasn't entirely sure WHO he really was. And worse of all, far from being sickening and disturbing, the whole experience had been exquisitely pleasurable and satisfying... for himself, at least, if not for his victims.  Nor could he decide which part he found more enjoyable -- the actual act of inflicting pain, be it physical, mental, or emotional pain, or whether it was the feeling of control that pain gave him over others.

After the undercover operation was finished, torn between longing and loathing, he had totally cut loose, drinking and partying like a lunatic... indulging in crazy pranks... anything and everything he possibly could to distance himself from Umbra's seductive and overwhelming persona. But more important than the freedom was his desperate need to know whether he was still capable of caring about other people instead of treating them as toys or mere objects for his amusement. Fortunately, he had gotten his act together before he managed to kill himself or before Professor G decided to hustle him off into therapy.

(Right. The dear professor's not too concerned about Umbra because Umbra is perfectly capable of piloting a Gundam or carrying out missions, but as for me behaving like a normal reckless teenager... THAT's really had him worried.)

Duo had hoped that Umbra and his twisted desires were dead and buried forever, but he was wrong. Umbra was back to spread his shadow over the world once again. And the sickening realization of just how *easily* he had reverted back to being Umbra....

(Crawford, I think I hate you. And you're going to pay DEARLY for Umbra's resurrection.)

=====================================================================

When the door to his suite swung open to reveal a voluptuous dark-haired beauty dressed in an extremely skimpy French maid outfit kneeling in the middle of the living room, Duo didn't even raise an eyebrow. Striding forward, he approached within a few steps of the woman. As soon as he halted, she instantly prostrated herself on the floor.

"Master," she murmured throatily, "I'm here to serve your every desire."

"Indeed," he said with cool amusement.

Duo slowly circled around the prettily groveling woman, then reached down and pulled her back to her knees by her hair.

"Who sent you?"

She bit her rosy lips and replied, "Master Crawford sent me."

"And how do you expect to serve me?" he whispered in her ear.

She shivered and said in a breathy voice, "Any way that pleases you, Master."

Duo released his grip on her long hair and said calmly, "Very well."  Moving to an armchair, he gestured languidly at his ankle boots and said, "I want them cleaned."

She smiled with anticipation and crawled until she was kneeling in front of the armchair, but even as she bent forward to lick his boots, he said in mildly scolding tones, "I didn't tell you to lick them. I said I wanted them cleaned."

The maid frowned prettily in confusion.

Duo cocked his head slightly. "That means I want you to take them off my feet and polish them."

She frowned again. "Pol... polish your boots, Master?"

"Yes. Or is that too difficult for you?  You did say that you wanted to serve in any way that pleased me," Duo said in the same mildly admonishing voice he had used before.

"Of course, Master, but don't you think that I could provide you with more pleasure in much better ways...," she cooed huskily, audaciously running her fingers along the crotch of Duo's black leather pants.

Without warning, he grabbed the woman by the hair and yanked until she was bent over backward over his knee. With a decidedly feral grin, he said, "What I think is that you're just a rich bitch who managed to bribe some fool into letting you into my rooms. What were you looking for?  An exciting night and a good fuck?"

"OWWWW!!!" she squealed both in pain and in anger. "Let me go!"

In a pleasantly conversational voice, Duo said, "Not quite so submissive now, are you?"

"Stop!  That... that really hurts!" she whined as he wrenched one of her arms behind her back.

"This isn't one of your pretty little sex slave fantasies. What were you expecting -- safewords, silk scarves, padded cuffs, and velvet whips?  Of course it really hurts. I want it to hurt. If you were actually sent by Crawford, you'd know that."

"Shit!" she wailed as he forced her right arm up a bit further. "Stop it!"

"You're in no position to make any demands. You should think of a more pleasing way to convince me," he said with a malicious purr.

If he applied another pound or so of pressure in one direction, he'd dislocate her arm... a sharp jerk in another direction and he'd break it. A quick stamp of his foot could easily shatter a kneecap. Duo felt the familiar dark pleasure seeping through his brain at that enticing thought and the sound of her increasingly frightened whimpers only served to feed his hunger.

"Oh God!!!  Please!!!  You're breaking my back!  Please!!!" she cried as she wiggled futilely in his grasp.

"Nonsense, you can handle a lot more than that. The human body is wonderfully flexible."  And to illustrate his point, he forced her spine to arch a few degrees more.

For a brief instant, Duo considered surrendering to his urge to inflict actual physical damage on the idiotic female. However, if the woman was wealthy enough to bribe one of the hotel employees, her disappearance or serious injury could unduly complicate the current situation.

Duo rose to his feet and effortlessly hauled the now sobbing woman across the room. After placing a phone call, he then proceeded to teach the woman an unforgettable lesson about inviting herself into a complete stranger's hotel room.

There are many ways of inflicting intense pain on a human being without leaving marks. Umbra knew most of them.

When someone knocked a few minutes later, he flung open his door and casually tossed the now hysterically sobbing woman out into the hallway like a discarded wad of tissue. Ignoring her soft whimpers and groans of pain, the two impassive hotel employees accepted a liberal tip from Duo before scooping the woman up and carting her away.

After he shut the suite door, Duo leaned back against it and took a few slow, deep breaths before staring down at his partially gloved hands.

They didn't shake. Umbra's hands never shook.

Duo stared at the large plate glass mirror lining one wall of the suite's entranceway. There was no sign of his inner turmoil to be seen in his reflection. Instead, all he could see was Umbra's usual cool, controlled facade -- always watching, always evaluating, always hunting for the next piece of meat for his table... showing just enough hunger to make the prey nervous and unsettled, but never desperate... never sloppy. Quality, not quantity.

Umbra was mastery incarnate... a manipulative, heartless bastard who existed to control others. Dominion was what Umbra hungered for -- dominion over the body, the heart, the mind, and soul of any person unfortunately to attract his attention.

And whatever Umbra wanted, Umbra got.

With almost a conscious effort to break free of Umbra's mannerisms and speech habits, Duo gritted his teeth and said angrily, "Nothing bothers you, does it, you son-of-a-bitch?  Everyone's just a toy for your damn games!"

His voice dropped to a whisper, but lost none of its steely determination as he continued to glare at his own reflection.

"I know what you want, but you can't have him. I won't let you have him."

=====================================================================

At that moment, in his hotel room, Heero finished reading his revised orders for the mission.

"Ninmu ryoukai," he said with a slight frown as he shut down his laptop.

(So he's now in charge of this operation....)

Despite Duo's often frivolous and casual attitude, Heero knew that the Deathscythe pilot was perfectly capable of planning and carrying out a complex mission. But Heero still found his new orders was puzzling and a bit disturbing. They basically boiled down to one simple thing -- do whatever Duo tells you to do.

A copy had been forwarded to Duo, so the braided teenager was undoubtedly aware of the change in Heero's orders.

(What the hell is that long-haired idiot going to make me do?)

Knowing Duo, it could almost be anything, ranging from the deadly serious such as assassinating an OZ officer to the highly annoying such as making Heero to go shopping for women's clothes to the utterly humiliating like forcing him to *wear* those women's clothes....

However, sitting around wasn't going to make the situation involving Duo any better and Crawford's damn plot was definitely no joking matter. Heero snorted irritably when a quick check told him that Duo was staying on the exclusive penthouse level of the hotel. Access was restricted, but the Wing pilot already knew several ways to get around the hotel's security.

Rising to his feet, Heero muttered, "I better find out what Duo wants from me," and headed out the door.

=====================================================================

[ Wufei's hotel room ]

After Duo's departure, a thick, oppressive silence settled over Wufei's bedroom. As he rubbed the sore spot on his skull where his head had been slammed against the headboard by Duo, Wufei watched Treize as he sat pensively in the very same armchair that the Deathscythe had occupied so recently.

Unsettled by the quietness, Wufei said abruptly, "Why did you come rushing down here, anyway?"

The general remained silent for a long moment, then quietly said, "I came because I thought I recognized him."

"Him?  Are you talking about Duo Maxwell?"

Treize settled back into the chair and murmured, "You really have no idea, do you?"  He shook his head ruefully. "You associate with dangerous people, Wufei."

"Are you counting yourself?" came the teenager's sharp retort.

"I admit that I could be considered dangerous by some, but I never...."  Treize paused for a moment, as if reconsidering his words. "Your 'friend', if he's the person I think he is...."

"And who would that be?"  But when the older man remained silent, Wufei growled impatiently, "If you have an accusation to make, then make it!"

The general paused to gather his thoughts before replying. "Very well. You will recall that you made some disparaging remarks about a deviant sexual subculture."  When Wufei nodded slowly, Treize continued, "In this subculture, like in many others, there is an unwritten hierarchy of sorts. On the very lowest end are the curious people simply looking for a vicarious thrill. Moving up the scale you have the casual experimenters, followed by various levels of amateurs, then the usual assemblage of pretentious dilettantes. And finally, there are the serious devotees, and at the top reside the hardcore elite."

"And where do you fit in?" Wufei inquired sarcastically.

With a casual shrug, Treize murmured, "Oh, I suppose that I fit somewhere between the amateurs and the experts."

The Chinese pilot scowled at the deliberately vague reply, but let it go for the moment. "All right. There's a hierarchy. Fine. But I don't see what this has to do with Maxwell!"

"Patience, my dragon."  He gave the teenager a serious glance. "And among the elite, there are certain... persons who are both respected and feared for their exceptional talents. One might even call them notorious. One of these persons is an individual simply known as Umbra."

"Umbra...?"  Even the sound of the name felt strangely ominous to the Chinese pilot. He hastily shook off the odd mood and snapped, "Is that supposed to mean anything to me?"

With a hooded glance, the general said, "Be thankful that it doesn't. Like the shadow that is his namesake, Umbra's an elusive sort. Although many have heard of him, surprisingly few people have been... privileged... to encounter him in person."  A corner of his elegant mouth quirked upward. "I am told that it's quite an unforgettable experience to encounter him, regardless of whether you're a dominant or a submissive. And he's unpredictable. One night, he could attend the most exclusive of high-class parties. Another night, he could appear at the most sordid nightclub imaginable. However, the rumors seem to agree on a few points, namely that Umbra is a master in every sense of the term. He is a dominant who wields profound control over his slaves and who is generally knowledged in the sexual underworld as a nearly unmatched master of discipline and pain."

Wufei gave Treize a look of disbelief and blurted out, "You don't mean to say that you think DUO is this... this Umbra person!"

"I'm almost certain that he is."

"Wait a moment!  Have you ever met this Umbra person before?"

"No. But I have seen a very short video clip of him. He is a male in his mid-teens, with dark violet eyes and long, dark gold hair worn in a braid. Quite distinctive."

"Duo's hair is brown!"

"A minor discrepancy easily explained. Besides, I believe Maxwell's hair is chestnut brown with golden highlights."

"And how can a teenager possibly be this... this...," Wufei sputtered and groped for a suitable phrase

"This... super-dom?" the general suggested helpfully.

"Whatever!"

"Physically, he may be a teenager, but the strength of his personality makes the issue of age quite irrelevent. You saw for yourself how politely people like Crawford and Lady Devereaux treated him. They recognized a fellow predator immediately."

Wufei grabbed at his aching head. "Hold it. Hold it!  This doesn't make sense!  I know you've seen pictures of Maxwell before, so why did it take you all this time to identify him as this Umbra person!?"

Treize shook his head and said, "Because I've never seen Duo Maxwell *act* anything like Umbra. Oh, your friend Maxwell and Umbra may look the same, but the differences in behavior and personality totally overpower the incredible physical resemblance. Even now, I'm finding it rather difficult to understand how Maxwell and Umbra can actually be a single individual."

The general gave Wufei a sympathetic look. "I know that this is hard for you to believe, but you don't have to take just my word for it. You saw his behavior for yourself. Don't try to tell me that you didn't feel nervous, anxious, and more than a little intimidated when Maxwell focused his attention on you."

Wufei stared down at his hands in silence. He desperately wanted to believe that it was all an act... that Duo was simply doing a superb job of playing a role....

(But what I saw tonight... that was no act!  The control... the hunger... the cruelty lurking inside... it was all real. REAL. But that still doesn't prove that Treize's story is true....)

Finally, the teenager whispered, "You said... you had a videoclip...?"

"I said that I *saw* a videoclip of Umbra. Just once. In the clip he wasn't quite as... overwhelming as he was in the Meat Market tonight, but I imagine that he had his reasons for wanting to make an immediate impression on Crawford."

"Where is that videoclip now?"

Treize said evenly, "It probably doesn't exist anymore."

Wufei's head came up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Umbra seems to have an aversion to being caught on video or in pictures. It's almost impossible to find any images of him at all. God knows, I've tried."

"Why were you so interested in Umbra, anyway?" Wufei inquired with a frown. "It's not mere curiosity. You don't strike me as the... submissive... sort, Treize."

"I'm not."  Treize took a deep breath. "I became interested in Umbra after a childhood acquaintance of mine... disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"His name was Siegfried. His mother wanted... no, she *craved* strong discipline. After her husband died under mysterious circumstances, she was free to satisfy her own sexual desires. However, a hunger for bondage and discipline is not the type of need that a wealthy, powerful woman could admit to having. There are too many people willing to exploit that weakness. But she eventually found someone who satisfied her particular needs... someone outside her normal social and business circles."

"So what happened?"

"Siegfried found out somehow. One night, he staggered to my quarters utterly drunk and babbled out the whole story to me. He was disgusted, horrified that his mother, whom he worshipped and idolized, could willingly degrade herself like that. Then he started to rant and rave about killing the bastard who corrupted her. That's when he showed me the videoclip of his mother's new master... Umbra."

Treize shook his head. "I tried to talk him out of it, but...." Shrugging helplessly, he continued, "He stormed out of my quarters the next morning. That was the last time I ever saw him. I made several efforts to locate him, but I couldn't find any trace of Siegfried. That's when I became interested in Umbra."

"You think that Duo... Umbra had something to do with your friend's disappearance."

"Not really a friend. Just... someone I grew up with. The timing of his disappearance was certainly suspicious, but there really was no evidence of foul play. With other projects requiring my attention, I chose not to pursue the matter."

"But surely his mother would have demanded an investigation...!"

Treize drawled, "General Ilsa Vulfenstrag stated that if her son chose to dishonor himself and the family by going AWOL, she would not waste her time or OZ's resources to find him and drag him back just so he could be court martialed."

Wufei's jaw dropped open. "General... Vulfenstrag!?  The head of OZ's Logistical Support division!?"

"The one and the same. The dreaded Iron She-Wolf herself. She's definitely *not* someone you want to cross. Anger her and pay vouchers get lost, supplies are mysteriously rerouted, and paperwork gets misfiled."

"And you're trying to tell me that General Vulfenstrag was... that she actually WANTED to be Duo's... I mean, Umbra's slave!?  As in 'can I lick your boots and please whip me' type of slave!?"

"Exactly."

Somewhere during the last few minutes of their conversation, Wufei had begun to truly believe Treize's wild story... but it didn't seem quite so wild now. Suddenly, certain odd incidents made a horrible sort of sense to Wufei... like the time Duo managed to get the timetables and cargo manifests for a secret shipment of experimental weapons... or the time when Duo somehow found those special explosive charges for Heero on such short notice... and then there was all that cash....

(How does he do it?  Is he blackmailing her?  And if he's somehow got a hold on HER, just how many influential people does Duo have under his thumb!?)

Wufei desperately hoped that it was simply a matter of blackmail. That was much easier to stomach than the other possibilities he could think of....

"Boggles the mind, doesn't it?  To think that one of OZ's top generals is at a Gundam pilot's beck and call," Treize said with a sardonic smile as he watched the various expressions of shock, disbelief, and revulsion flitting across the teenager's face.

Wufei's hands twisted and knotted the bedsheets as he muttered, "She... she covered up her son's disappearance... to preserve her own reputation...."

"Or she acted on Maxwell's... or I should say, Umbra's orders. For all I know, he could have commanded her to dispose of Siegfried personally."

"That's... that's an obscene suggestion!  To order a mother to kill her own son...!"

"My little dragon. For all your maturity and training, you're still so innocent in many ways. You don't understand how people like Umbra think, but I do. My entire family has been intimately involved with sexual sadism and dominance for generations. I grew up surrounded by people like Crawford or Lady Devereaux. To you, a mother killing her own child is a horrible crime. But that act also represents the ultimate proof of a slave's obedience to her master's will. After all, didn't God command Abraham to sacrifice his own son Isaac?"

A long silence followed.

"What a fine world you live in, Treize," Wufei finally said in a cold, bitter voice.

The general met the teenager's icy black gaze without flinching.

"I know. That's why I've tried to leave the darker aspects of it behind. Unfortunately, I haven't been entirely successful," Treize said quietly as his blue eyes shifted to the softly gleaming slave chain on the bedside table.

=====================================================================

[ inside the Meat Market nightclub ]

Dorothy's expression of scornful amusement sent another amorous male scurrying away. She was having too much fun watching Relena. After getting her rump nicely warmed up with a playful paddling, the thoroughly intoxicated Peacecraft was now sprawled wantonly in her spanker's lap, giggling happily as the brown-haired young man tickled her.

(What would those old moronic politicians say if they could see her now?)

Sipping her drink, Dorothy smiled appreciatively as Relena's gold lame dress was pulled up around her waist, exposing her elegant legs which were sheathed in cream-colored silk.

(I'm glad I managed to talk her into wearing stockings and a garter belt. Pantyhose is so constricting,) Dorothy thought smugly to herself. She delicately licked her perfectly painted lips as one of the young man's hands slid up Relena's inner thigh, while the other hand busily pulled her strapless dress down to expose her breasts. There was a hearty roar of approval from the drunken crowd watching the entire scene.

The Catalonia stepped off the bar stool and sauntered over toward Relena and company. She nudged several people out of her way, reached into her tiny evening bag, and pulled out a camera. As Dorothy leisurely took a whole series of photos of the near-naked Relena, the brown-haired young man looked up and cheerfully greeted her.

"Yo, Dorothy!"

"Enjoying yourself, Reggie?"

The young man chuckled and said, "You sure can pick 'em!  Underneath all that prissiness, she's one hot babe!" as he casually fondled one of Relena's breasts. The Peacecraft responded by leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses along his neck.

"She did chug down two Pink Pussy Zingers in the space of less than ten minutes."

"Whoa!  No wonder she's acting like a bitch in heat!"  He gave Dorothy a sly glance. "Betcha you didn't warn her about those pink drinks they serve around here."

She gave him a malicious little smirk. "Well, Relena's the stubborn sort. Once she's got her mind set on something, she hates backing down. The bartender did try to warn her, but she wouldn't listen."

Relena writhed provocatively on Reggie's lap and complained, "I've got an awful itch... help me scratch it, dahling?"

He leered at her, then glanced up at Dorothy. "Well, wanna make it a threesome?"

Dorothy grinned dangerously. "Still trying to get me into bed, Reggie?"

The young man gave the Catalonia, clad in her sleek dress of electric blue silk and glittery fishnet, an admiring look.

"Hell, can't blame a guy for trying, you know."

"I suppose not. But like I said before, I'm not interested in you. Nothing personal."

As Reggie's face fell, Dorothy reached out and stroked a long-nailed finger along his cheek, "But I thank you kindly for warming Relena up for me."

He gave her a good-humored shrug. "Oh well. Want some help getting her back to your room?"

"How gallant of you, Reggie."

"It's no big deal. I can always come back here and look for another playmate. What are friends for, anyway?"

The young man grinned and stood up with Relena slung over his shoulder. In that position, Reggie had the perfect opportunity to squeeze and fondle the drunken girl's nicely rounded buttocks, which were still flushed red from their earlier spanking. Once outside the club, Relena lifted her head and peered a bit cross-eyed at Dorothy who was walking behind Reggie.

The Peacecraft extended a hand in Dorothy's direction and said with a silly grin, "Coming?  Don't wanna be... alone...."

Taking hold of Relena's hand and lacing their fingers together, Dorothy said smoothly, "But of course!  You don't think I'd let you get away from me so easily."

Relena snickered hazily. "Niccce...."

With her free hand, Dorothy patted Relena on the head like a pet dog and said, "I'm even going to teach you how to be a good girl. Would you like that, Relena?"

"Sssure... alwaysss wanna be a good... girl...," came the other girl's slurred and complacent response. "Good girlsssss... do... what... they're... told...."

"Excellent," Dorothy purred with a predatory glint in her blue eyes.

=====================================================================

Unlike normal hotel rooms, the penthouse suites at the Roissy resort were accessible by a set of small service corridors that were designed to provide an inconspicious way for servants and other items to move in and out of the suites.

Heero used these service corridors to make his way unobserved to Duo's suite. The servants' entrance was locked, but an access code hacked from the resort's computers easily took care of that problem.

The Wing pilot stepped inside the luxurious rooms. In sharp contrast with the other rooms in the resort, the suite was decorated in almost excruciating good taste. It made both Quatre's and Relena's houses look positively cheap in comparison. For a brief instant, the sound of opera music playing softly in the background made Heero wonder if he was in the right suite. The idea of Duo listening to opera made him snort softly as he continued his exploration.

At first, the entire suite seemed to be unoccupied. It was only when he reached the master bedroom when he found any traces of someone's presence. A long thin case and a briefcase, both locked, sat on the floor. From the adjoining bathroom came the sound of a running shower. The only thing disturbing the exquisite tidiness of the room was the rumpled heap of leather and silk clothing laying in a corner of the room, as if carelessly tossed there.

Heero moved stealthily over to the bathroom and peered through the barely opened door. The sight of a familiar mass of long wet chestnut hair confirmed that this was indeed his teammate's suite.

"Duo," the Wing pilot said with his usual curtness.

There was a surprisingly long pause before Duo responded.

"I'll be out in a few minutes."

The dark-haired teenager frowned at the oddly cool tone in Duo's voice, then shrugged and sat down on the bed to wait.

Five minutes passed before the bathroom door fully opened and Duo appeared in the doorway, dressed in a white bathrobe. Strangely, he said nothing as he continued to towel his long hair dry.

Heero's lips thinned briefly in annoyance before he said tersely, "I received my new orders."

"I see."  Duo finished drying his hair and hung up the damp towel with uncharacteristic neatness.

"What's going on?  Why the sudden change in plans?" Heero demanded.

The Deathscythe pilot walked further into the bedroom and smiled slightly, "Aren't we in a bad mood today."

"I'm not interested in playing any of your silly games, Duo!"

The long-haired pilot's muted look of amusement faded. With no particular emotion in his voice, he said evenly,  "No games. What did your new orders say?"

Heero said irritably, "You know what they said."

"But I want to know what you think those orders mean."

The Wing pilot glared at Duo and said flatly, "That the original plan is inoperative. That you're now in command of this particular operation and that I'm to obey your orders."

Heero suddenly felt a chill of unease as Duo finally smiled. There was something wrong with that faint smile. It had a dark, menacing edge that simply did NOT belong there.

"Excellent."  The Deathscythe pilot continued to move closer to Heero until he stood only a few feet away. "But tell me. Do you intend to follow those orders?"

"Of course," Heero snapped.

"Really?  Are you going to obey me fully and to the best of your ability?"

"Yes!  Duo, what the hell's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine."  The long-haired teenager reached up and lightly grasped the back of Heero's neck. When the Wing pilot instinctively lifted his hand to brush Duo's hand away, the Deathscythe pilot's dark violet eyes narrowed ominously.

In a cold, steely voice, Duo said, "Don't. Move."

"What the...?"

"That's an order, Yuy."

=====================================================================

Interlude

"That's an order, Yuy."

Heero froze for an instant when he heard the cold steely tone in Duo's voice, then almost angrily knocked the other pilot's hand away from his neck. Apparently unruffled by the Wing pilot's actions, Duo turned away and looked thoughtfully at the fireplace as Heero growled, "What sort of stupid game are you up to, Duo?"

The long-haired pilot glanced toward him, his lips curving upward into a dangerous little smile and gave the Wing pilot a look of mildly scornful amusement.

"No game, Heero. Just a test. I wanted to know if you were capable of living up to your own words."  Duo's smile became just a touch colder. "But evidently not."

"What are you talking about?" Heero demanded irritably.

"You said that you were going to follow your orders," Duo reminded the Wing pilot. "And those orders are to follow *my* orders."

Heero said testily, "I'm painfully aware that you're in command of this mission, Duo. All right, you've made your point. There's no need to rub my nose in it."

"I choose to differ."

Heero's scowl deepened at the unusual firmness in the long-haired pilot's voice. There was something very wrong with the situation... with the way Duo was behaving....

 "You're a hypocrite, Heero," Duo stated as he turned to confront the other pilot. Like his movements, both the rhythm of his speech and word choice were precise and exquisitely controlled. It was a shocking contrast from Duo's usual slang-sprinkled, free-flowing way of talking.

The dark-haired pilot blinked, taken aback by the other's unexpected verbal attack. Finally, he managed a furious, "What!?"

Pinning the other pilot with a chill gaze, Duo replied in dispassionate tones, "A hypocrite is a person who professes beliefs, virtues, or feelings that he does not hold or possess. Tell me how that definition fails to fit you. You've repeatedly lectured me on the importance of following orders, regardless of the physical or mental cost to self or others. You admit that you have received and fully understood your new orders -- orders giving me command over the current mission. But instead of following my orders as you so blithely promised just a minute ago, you deliberately disobeyed the very first order I gave you."

Heero glared at the other pilot, oddly stung by Duo's accusation and his aura of cold confidence. He retorted defensively, "Meaningful orders are one thing, but I'm not going to comply with frivolous whims which have nothing to do with the current mission. We're here to destroy Crawford's conspiracy and all traces of the virus, not to play one of your meaningless games!"

Duo's smile developed a bone-chilling edge as he said, "As I most emphatically told Wufei, this is no game. And who are you to decide what constitutes a frivolous whim or not?" Duo added in soft, yet scathing tones.

"No one gave you permission to decide whether to obey me or not, Heero. On this particular mission, obedience is *not* discretionary. I made that point abundantly clear to Dr. J because I knew just how stubborn you would be. And in spite of Dr. J's very explicit instructions, you chose to ignore a simple order to remain still. Who's indulging in frivolous whims now?"

Heero said with a distinct undertone of bitterness, "Aren't you the one who's always telling me not to blindly follow orders?"

"Wrong. I told you that there are times when you need to ask the question 'why?'. But you didn't even bother to do that, did you?  You could have given me the courtesy of asking me why I gave you that order. I would have answered. I would have given you the reasons for my actions. But instead, you instantly assumed that I was merely wasting my time with some sort of prank or a joke."  Duo smiled coldly. "Well, I'm not all fun and games."

Attempting to hide his growing uneasiness, the Wing pilot said tersely, "All right. Maybe I jumped to conclusions...."

Duo's lips curved upward in a faint, but eloquent smile of scorn.

 "Should I consider that an apology?"

Heero shook his head in frustration. "What the hell do you want from me, then?"

"For now, respect. I *will* have respect from you," the other pilot said in a velvety voice that contained an oddly dark and sinister undercurrent as he turned away and headed for the bedroom closet.

"I do respect you," Heero muttered with an odd sense of discomfort in his chest. He had often wished that Duo would behave more seriously, but not like this. Where was the compassion, the easy understanding that he had come to rely on?  He knew how to handle or ignore Duo's rare outbursts of anger -- basically, he ignored them -- but the Deathscythe pilot's cold, clinical dissection of his psyche was an entirely different matter. Duo had never spoken to him like this before. No one, not even Dr. J, had ever done that.

As Duo removed his robe and hung it neatly, he said in soft, acid tones, "Really?  Then you have a very strange way of showing that respect."

"It's just that you usually act...."

"Act like what?  A fool?  A buffoon?  An idiot?" Duo calmly stated as he stood there stark naked, brushing out his hair in smooth, efficient strokes.

"I... I don't really think you're that...."

"Perhaps, but you find it much more convenient to pretend that the facade is the reality. That way, you can justify ignoring me as it suits your convenience and your whims."

"No!  That's not how I...."

"What?  That's not true?  Add dishonesty to your list of faults, Heero."

"Damn it, Duo!  Why are you doing this to me?" Heero whispered, unable to keep the hurt tone out of his voice.

Duo said in a cool, faintly amused voice, "Do what?  Tell you the truth about yourself?"

"That isn't the truth!"

Pulling his hair aside with one hand, Duo turned his head slightly toward Heero. "Isn't it?  You've managed to delude yourself and practically everyone else into believing that you're a fearless idealist, ready to sacrifice all for the good of humanity. But that selfless dedication is just an illusion. The reality is very different."

"And what is this so-called reality?"

"The reality is that you're both selfish and a coward, Heero. You're willing to go only so far. And you're afraid of risking yourself."

"How can you, of all people, say that!?"

The Deathscythe pilot made a graceful gesture of dismissal. "Oh, I'm not talking about gross external risks like death or physical injury. I'm referring about much more personal types of risk. Emotions, feelings, any sort of intimacy frightens you. Doesn't it, Heero?"

The Wing pilot shook his head in a mixture of denial and confusion, then blurted out, "I fail to see how allowing you to grope me will do anything to accomplish our mission!"

The knowing, mocking look in Duo's dark violet eyes told Heero that the Deathscythe pilot was perfectly aware of his clumsy attempt to change the topic. Instead of making an issue of it, Duo merely replied in a provocative purr, "You'd be amazed how much can be accomplished with a whisper or touch, even a kiss, at the right place and time."

Shifting uncomfortably, the Wing pilot said tersely, "That's not how we operate...."

"Incorrect. That's not how *you* would operate. Have you ever asked yourself why?  It's because somewhere deep inside, people like you and Wufei like to cling to the illusion that you're simply warriors or soldiers. You're willing to risk life and limb, you're willing to fight and kill, all to accomplish your mission, but you refuse to lower yourself to using dirty, underhanded methods like betrayal, blackmail, or manipulation."

"But the real reason you won't use such methods is because you can't stand becoming personally involved with your targets or victims. That's why you found it so hard to kill Relena even when it was the most expedient thing to do. That's why Wufei has such difficulty dealing with Treize Khushrenada. You need that emotional distance, that detachment. You don't want to know anything about the people you hurt or kill because neither of you can handle the consequences of physical or emotional closeness."

Duo stalked forward a few steps. "Your approach may work fine for most missions, but there are times when that method just won't work. And that's where people like me come in. I'm not nearly as fastidious as you are, Heero. I'm willing to wallow in the gutter and get my hands dirty if that's what it takes to get the job done."

Almost mesmerized by the intensity of Duo's gaze and his words, Heero remained frozen as the other pilot placed his hand on back of the Wing pilot's neck.

"You've never gotten to know your victims intimately... never burrowed your way deep into their hearts or souls in order to find their weak points. But those tactics are my specialty, Heero. That's why I'm in command of this mission... because I'm familiar with this particular battlefield and because I'm extremely good at this style of warfare. And make no mistake, it *is* warfare, just like any battle with tanks or mobile suits."

He turned and stepped away from Heero, his loose chestnut hair swirling behind him, then extracted a pair of black leather pants from the closet.

There was no arrogance or pride in Duo's voice, only a steely confidence in his abilities as he continued, "I know how people like Crawford and his associates think. I speak their language. I know what they want and how to turn those desires against them."

As he gracefully slipped on the pants and carefully smoothed the sleek black leather in place, Duo added coldly, "I don't have time to coax and coddle you into doing something that you obviously have problems accepting. This mission is too important for allow for the mistakes that you're bound to make, so I'm giving you a job that I know you can manage."

=====================================================================

Heero went slightly pale as he struggled with Duo's continued verbal onslaught. Of all criticisms that had been leveled at him, selfishness or cowardice had never been one of them. The accusations were even more painful and difficult to accept because of the undeniable thread of truth buried in them... his insensitive and often contemptuous behavior toward Duo, his reluctance to do certain things... was Duo right in calling him selfish, cowardly, unfit and unwilling to do anything except create havoc and destruction...?

"Well, they say the mark of a good leader is knowing how to work around other people's limitations. I have no intention of forcing the issue, Heero. Now that I know the sort of orders that you're willing to follow, I can adjust my plans accordingly," the Deathscythe pilot continued in a calm, yet totally ruthless tone of voice.

Duo languidly raised a hand just as the other pilot attempted a feeble protest.

"All right, Heero. You've made it abundantly clear that you're going to obey my orders only if they fit your idea of relevance to our current mission. Fine. That's why I'm giving you a very simple, very straightforward set of orders. Your part of the mission simply requires a little patience and restraint. First, you are to stand by and wait until I give you the information needed for locating and destroying Crawford's bioweapon lab. Second, you are to refrain from any interference that will prevent me and Trowa from accomplishing our part of the mission, which is to get you within striking distance of the virus research lab and extract vital information from Crawford and his associates. Are those orders sufficiently mission-relevant for you?"

"Duo, I don't understand why you're doing any of this...."

Violet eyes darkened and grew frighteningly cold. "It comes down to this."  The bare-chested Duo stalked forward until he was standing only a few inches from Heero. "Basically, I can rely on Trowa to do whatever needs to be done much more than I can rely on you. No matter how much you've preached about the necessity of obeying orders, I can't trust you to do exactly that."

The repeated mention of the Heavyarms pilot's name finally penetrated Heero's consciousness, sending an unfamiliar chill down his back. He whispered hoarsely, "What do you mean... Trowa?  What does he have to do with all this?"

The shirtless Deathscythe pilot responded by slowly smiling. It was a seductively beautiful, yet terrifying expression.

In a dark, yet curiously gentle tone, Duo said, "Don't worry, Heero. All you need to do is wait and act innocent until I give you both the necessary information and the opportunity to destroy the target. Trowa and I will handle all the dirty work."

"You... and Trowa?  And just exactly will the two of you be doing?" Heero asked rather sharply as his guts knotted with a sickening sense of foreboding.

"Providing a private show that will keep the members of Crawford's little cabal... distracted and isolated," Duo said, a cryptic little smile curving his lips as he pulled on a long-sleeved shirt of emerald green silk.

"And how are you planning to do that?" the Wing pilot demanded, feeling an sharp tinge of... jealousy?  Surely Duo wasn't planning to....

The Deathscythe pilot purred, "Crawford and his associates are sadistic bastards who enjoy nothing more than watching another person suffer. I'm simply going to give them exactly what they want to see."

Heero stared blankly at Duo for a long moment, unable or perhaps unwilling to comprehend what the other pilot was so calmly planning. But when it finally sank in, the Wing pilot recoiled a few steps in disbelief.

"You're... you're not going to...!"

"Oh yes, I am. Trowa has already agreed. Reluctantly, of course, but he sees the necessity," the long-haired pilot drawled as he dexterously fastened the wide, snug cuffs of the shirt, then he gave Heero a malicious, sideways glance. "Unlike you."

"But you can't!  Damn it, Duo, you've got to know what Trowa's been through before!  How can you possibly even think about deliberately hurting him even more!?" Heero protested, clenching his fists.

With unshakable determination, Duo said, "I can. And I will. Just a few minutes ago, you lectured me on the importance of this operation. Believe me when I tell you that for once, I may be more fanatically dedicated to completing this mission than even you are."  He prowled forward until he was standing just a few inches away from Heero.

Taken aback by the cold, ferocious intensity in Duo's voice, Heero could only watch speechlessly as the other pilot reached up and lightly brushed his deceptively slender fingers along the Wing pilot's right cheek.

"I will do anything -- use any method necessary, exploit anyone I have to -- in order to succeed. Anything and *anybody*. Remember that, Heero."

An ominous, predatory gleam appeared in his dark violet gaze as he paused, then added, "Unless you feel strongly enough to take Trowa's place. I know you care a great deal about him. How far are you willing to go to spare him more pain?"

Heero stared mutely at the other pilot, a sickening chill gripping his insides. He simply couldn't understand how Duo could suggest such an atrocity with such... such total calm. No, that wasn't right. He could sense a tightly controlled sense of... eagerness?  Malicious anticipation?  Barely controlled hunger?

Standing in the middle of the opulent bedroom, Duo looked like an erotic vision, with his slender, yet firmly muscled body perfectly showcased by the body-hugging black leather pants and the faintly shimmering folds of the emerald poet's shirt, and finally the silken mass of chestnut hair that cascaded over his shoulders, down his back, and ending just above his knees.  But it certainly didn't feel like a pleasant fantasy to Heero. Instead, he felt like he was trapped in an horrible waking nightmare that he couldn't escape from. This wasn't the Duo he knew and trusted... the person whose understanding and companionship he had come to depend upon so much.

A part of the Wing pilot wanted to howl from an excruciating sense of loss. He had only known Duo for just over a year, but he hadn't realized how much he had relied upon Duo's emotional support... his compassion... his warmth... the friendship and camaraderie that could easily become so much more... not until all those things had been taken away and by Duo himself. How could Duo know exactly what to say to cause the most pain?  Doubts and fears he wasn't even aware of having were now dragged out into the open....

Feeling as if he had been flayed alive -- and emotionally, he had been -- Heero fought the urge to curl up on the floor at Duo's feet like some mortally wounded animal. However, he found himself taking a perverse sort of strength from the other pilot's coldly mocking stare. He found himself wanting to prove the other pilot wrong. They still had a vitally important mission to accomplish and he wanted to show Duo that he *was* strong enough to do whatever needed to be done....

Fighting for control, Heero finally answered Duo in the flattest monotone he could manage.

"Is that what you want... sir?"

In spite the Wing pilot's effort to strip every bit of emotion out of his voice, the wrenching sense of bitterness and betrayal he felt must have been too evident in both his words and in his expression. Duo went strangely still, then the calculating coldness in his gaze slowly seemed to seep away, to be replaced by a look of guilt, sorrow, and concern.

The Deathscythe pilot took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then suddenly wrapped his arms around Heero. As he buried his face against Heero's neck, Duo uttered a hoarse whisper.

"DAMN it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Continued....


End file.
